Dear, Pants 

I hate you.

If I could live my life without having to wear you, I would.

Office pants

When I was younger, our relationship was all roses. I hated frilly or fluffy clothing. Dresses or skirts made me turn up my nose. Where did you go wrong? When did you stop supporting and start squeezing? Yes, I am blaming this on you.

I know that as a woman I should bite my tongue. For years women fought for their right to wear you, hell the Duggar women still don’t (different topic). But I hate you. To quote my friend Alfalfa, “You are the scum between my toes.”

You restrict me and constrict me. I count down the hours, the minutes, the seconds until I can take you off from the moment I put you on.

As I walk home from work I find myself unbuttoning in our front yard. The neighbours have to either think I am a nudist or they concur that pants suck.

commute pants

To me, you, sir pants, mean responsibility. And, if I could, I would not have any. I would spend my days lying about sans pantaloons, with no cares in the world. I don’t want to be a grown-up, and grown-ups wear pants!

Okay, okay, you aren’t all bad. I do have a few pairs that make my rump look beyond fantastic; however, I feel that the heels I wear to accompany you may do most of the work.

sassy pants

You are like wrapping paper, and I am all about the present inside. Sure the presentation is nice, but very rarely does anyone sit and admire the presentation of the paper and the bow when they know that what is inside is going to be amazing.

All of your kind aren’t bad. Yoga pants, sweat pants, and pyjama pants are all fantastic creations for which I hold a specific high regard. But none of you are appropriate for the workplace. And so I am left with this horrible icky feeling inside whenever I put you on.

I wish our relationship could be better, but at this time I fear that we are at an impasse.

Until my feelings change, I will hold my memories of you when I was younger with sweet regard. I am sorry we can’t be friends right now. Maybe in a few years? But then I talk with my older sisters and they too have the same feelings. So I am not hopeful.

pants vs wine

Until the times change,

~ Jacqui

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2 thoughts on “Dear, Pants 

  1. Pingback: Moving mountains, never mind they are just boxes | Weather Vane Sisterhood

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