The Best Pants in the World

I have the absolute best pants in the world.

Yes, you heard me… in the entire fucking world.  And I have had the best pants in the world for about 15+ years now, true story… they’re so great I refuse to throw them away no matter how tattered they become.

They are velour… like those tragic tracksuits that rich middle aged women wear… so they’re super fuzzy, and they’re blue leopard print.  When I first got them in junior high the shades of blue were of the melt-your-cornea-neon variety but after so many year they’ve faded to just regular bright, they’re enormous and have an elastic waist.

pants

Needless to say I wear them a lot.  Rarely out in public but around the house they are my pants of choice when somebody’s at the door and I have to get dressed quick or it’s too cold to be naked.

Except this evening something dreadful happened.  I was walking past the kitchen window, caught a glimpse of my reflection, and suddenly realized in one heart wrenching moment of clarity that these are not the best pants in the world… they’re terrible.  Seriously… they’re so so bad.  Based on the proportions I can only assume the seamstress was either high that day or was making them with an obese gay man in mind, so they hang off me in the most unflattering way possible.  The velour has been so worn down over the years that they’re not fuzzy everywhere anymore… they’re a strange patchwork of fuzzy and bristly little stumps.  The color… OMG seriously, I’m wearing neon blue leopard print pants.

These are without a doubt the single least sexy thing I have ever worn in my life.  Ever.  And they should have been left to die in the 90s where they were born.

They are a wardrobe abomination the likes of which the fashion police should shoot me on sight for.

I stood there in the kitchen, staring at my reflection for a few moments letting this all sink in, wondering what I should do about it, and how I had gone almost two entire decades without realizing this before.  I twisted this way and that, checking out the horror from all angles and then suddenly a new realization hit me.

I don’t give a shit.  Not even a teeny tiny shit like the tiny pellet shits rabbits take.  If I haven’t stopped wearing them already I can’t now… go big or go home, right?

So raise your glass to the best/worst pants in the world!  May they continue to live to cover my stretch marked ass for many years to come!!

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