Pants

For some reason, I've been thinking about pants a lot lately. Pants? Really? Really. Pants.

I work at home, so I wear sweat pants or yoga pants a lot. Like, every day. At Thanksgiving, my cousin P and I joked about wearing our "uniform" (sweat pants and a hoody) the whole time. I love my super soft, heather grey, Boise State sweats. A men's medium, they are way too big for me, so the waistband is rolled down and the cuffs are rolled up. Permanently stained with everyday wear and sap from firewood, they are pretty appalling, but they are the only pants I own that make me feel truly comfortable. My yoga pants are a decent, much less disgusting alternative to sweats, but they make me feel a bit too exposed in the rear, so I really only wear them when I break down and wash the sweats.

Much as I love them, I can't wear my sweats out of the house. Even if I'm just running to the convenience store for a second or walking the dog, I have to put on "real" pants. My goofy little dog has figured out the code. She comes running and does her ridiculous "Let's go ride in the truck! Truck! Truck!" dance whenever I put on real pants. It doesn't matter whether I am grabbing pants from the dryer or the dresser drawer, she somehow knows the sound of pants and equates it with leaving the house. It's a funny little reminder that I don't get out or change out of my "uniform" very often.

About a year and a half ago, I had a makeover provided by a local talk show. A free haircut and dye, beautiful blue suede pumps, a new handbag, and a new outfit all seemed like a good trade for five agonizing, mortifying minutes of being on television. When I was shopping with the fashion consultant, Darcy Camden, she made me try on skinny jeans. Well, that's not exactly true. I told her there was no way I would wear skinny jeans. Do you see this ass? I have had sweet little girl students tell me that I have a "ghetto booty" and "J-Lo butt", and they were right. This ghetto booty doesn't do skinny jeans. It probably wasn't the first time that Darcy had met resistance on the skinny jeans front, because she was ready with, "What if we call them pencil slacks?" That worked for me. I do look awfully sexy in a pencil skirt... I tried on the pencil slacks and I'll be damned if they didn't look pretty good. However, I couldn't imagine myself actually wearing them in public, on tv!, so I rejected them. 

It took over a year, but I finally broke down and bought myself some pencil slacks. Being short and um, curvy, finding jeans that fit, feel good, and look good on me is a constant challenge. So, when I took eight different pairs to the dressing room and the only ones that fit the bill happened to be skinnier than I expected when I pulled them off the rack, I had to buy them. Not long after that, I bought a second pair that I like even more. They are actually quite comfortable, and they make me feel pretty confident when worn with the kick-ass ass-kicking boots that I treated myself to when the divorce papers finally got signed and filed. It's mildly ironic that skinny jeans and boots is a look that my ex was always trying to get me to wear, but I felt too self-conscious about myself when I was with him. I gained a certain sense of freedom when I realized I was no longer with someone who knew me when I was a 20 pounds lighter 20-something. I hear diet and exercise can also improve one's self-image, but as I have already told you, I'm pretty lazy and that just sounds like so much work...It turned out to be easier to lose 200 pounds of man than to lose 20 pounds of me. Ba-dum-bump. Thank you, thank you, I'll be performing all week.  

Speaking of pants, I'm having a bit of dilemma about wearing pants as a single lady. The last time I was single for any length of time was in my early twenties. At that time, my friends teased that I wore the pants in a relationship. If I became a girlfriend, it was totally on my terms. Likewise, I was always the one to end a relationship, usually for no better reason than I had changed my mind. Mostly, I would get bored when a guy was too lovey or made it too easy for me to be in charge. I guess this is a public apology to those boyfriends of my early twenties. I swear it wasn't you, it really was me. 

During this pants-wearing time of my life, my roommate worked at Moe's Mo' Rockin' Cafe, Seattle's coolest club from 1993-1997. By virtue of being there every night, I became a "Moe girl." This basically meant that I didn't pay for drinks, had the ability to make security (the Moetivators) throw bitchy drunk girls out, and saw all the awesome rock shows that came through Seattle for free. It also meant competing with my gay roommate to see which one of us could attract the attention of cute new dishwashers, of which there seemed to be a never-ending supply. I'm embarrassed even saying this, but when it came to guys, I honestly felt like if I wanted it, I could have it. So here's the dilemma: I like the feeling of wearing pants in a relationship, but I don't really want to be with someone who will let me be in charge all the time. I think I actually like romantic gestures and being wooed, but not by the type of guy who would typically be a romantic wooer. What is that? Wouldn't it just be easier to like the guys that chase me instead of the other way around? Especially since I'm not super motivated to chase anything. Side note: Moe's 20th anniversary party and shows happen next week. I'll be there and I will probably even wear pants. 

Finally, what would a discussion about pants be without mentioning underpants? This is all I have to say about that: For a few years now, night sweats and hot flashes have meant that my bedtime attire is what I should have been wearing in my twenties, back when I had the body to look hot in a slinky tank and panties. Yay, menopause! Now all I really want, even more than a man, is to be able to coolly sleep through the night wearing my comfy sweats. If you can pull it off, wear an extra layer to bed for me tonight.