September 26, 2012

Up Yours, Pants!

I'd like to take a moment to talk about pants.  Not what's in them.  Not how they look on people.  The two-legged, three buttoned, self-esteem destroying abominations that every single one of us puts on one leg at a time.  I hate 'em.  I do.  I'll scream it from the rooftop - "Fuck Pants!"

The problem with that is in my neighborhood, someone will probably call the cops, assuming you're under the influence of something rather than just feeling all "Network" up in here.

I won't end up on a rooftop, mostly because immediately after screaming that I'm mad as hell, I'd be throwing a pair of flaming pants into the street and allowing them to burn in effigy.  I'm pretty sure that's frowned upon by law enforcement. . . So, I'm just going to have to talk to the internet.  So, internet, you were warned.

I've talked about getting a new job recently, and that has required me to invest in some business casual clothing.  Most of which have been slacks.  My previous gig let me wear jeans every day for the last 5 years, so my business casual wardrobe dwindled into the realm of pathetic.  The problem was, I had to beef it up in a hurry and on a budget.  Goodwill it was.

Even on the best of days, with the largest supply of cheddar, an optimistic attitude, and an entire day to kill, shopping for pants sucks the life out of me.  Let me paint a picture for you.  I'm a plus sized woman.  I'm currently a size 18.  And I'm not just your average size 18.  I'm apple shaped.  The majority of women are pear or hourglass shaped.  I, however, carry all my weight around my belly button rather than have junk in my trunk, or a shape like Ms Monroe.  This means that when I shop for pants, one of three things happens:

1)  The legs fit perfectly.  However, upon trying to button the pants, I'm left gasping, cussing, and pulling like hell to close the 2 inch gap between button and button hole.

2) The pants button fine while standing up, but I'm nearly sliced in half upon sitting or bending when my smooshy middle parts shift.  It's really obvious when this happens. 

Not that I have the same offending parts, but the reaction is just about spot on.

3) My pants start the day fitting snugly and staying up where they belong.  However, as the day goes on, they stretch and lose their shape.  By the time I roll in the door and kick them off in a clumsy fit of cussing, they're stretched out beyond any sort of flattery.  They sit, misshapen, on my hips, allowing my ashen belly to poke out from under my shirt.  Oh yes.  This is hot.  The jiggly bits nobody wants to ogle are trying to make their debut.  Oh no, this is a show only for the twins.  Get your lumpy, stretched out, jumble of rolls back up under that shirt and stay there!  *whip crack*

*deep breath*

Option three is my most hated outcome because I can't tell this will happen until AFTER I've purchased the pants.  The others I can kinda tell in the dressing room.  Well, between sobs of self loathing and murderous desires to do harm to anyone who offers me chocolate for the foreseeable future.  I can't tell you how many pairs of pants I've given away after wearing them once.  Realizing I'd be doing to geezer dance of pulling them up after I got up each time was enough to ditch them, regardless of how much they set me back.

This is why I'm all about the thrift store when it comes to building up my wardrobe.  I feel much less guilty ditching a $5 pair of pants than I would a $40 pair. Though, I've had the misfortune of discovering that over half the pairs I've bought have ended up with holes in the seams on the ass.  Either someone was deluding themselves when they bought them the first time, or the population of this town likes anal an awful lot more than I had previously believed.

When telling people about my seam issues, overwhelmingly, the question was a confused "You didn't look?".  Uh, no.  When I can get pants zipped that don't look like I need a ringmaster in a top hat to go along with the extra fabric around my legs, it's time to celebrate.  Looking for mending is the last thing that's on my mind.

Live!  From the dressing room!  It's - Pants That Zip!

In short, this week I've stepped out of two pairs of pants in anger immediately upon setting foot through my apartment's front door.  (Much to the dismay of my poor dog, who's crossed all her legs waiting for me to take her out to pee.)  I'm tired of those cotton blend abominations.  They're tricksters, hanging there on those special hangers.  I hate them all!

But then, being chunky, and having thighs that rub together when I walk, skirts and dresses aren't exactly that much more comfortable. . .

Maybe there is something to be said for being in league with the devil you already know.  Ok, the pants can stay.  But I'm still not wearing them in the house unless company's over.  Dammit!  I will prevail, if even over a tiny victory!

Fucking pants.

1 comment:

  1. That's the nicest segue from one phrase to another that I've seen in many a year... "being in league with the devil you know"


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