My Stupid Pants

I have this pair of pants...everytime I see them I always say, "oh God, I hate those f*%$ing pants." EVERY.TIME. I can just hear my friend Mike saying, "why you gotta be hatin' on those pants, lady, what did those pants ever do to you?" I'll tell you what those pants did to me...oh I'll tell you alright.

Ya see, it all started when I went to that one store, yeah, you know the one I'm talking about...the one targeted for the "bigger gal." Uh huh, THAT one. So there I am, minding my own business, when I see stacks and stack of jeans. Blue jeans. Black jeans. I love jeans. They're so comfy and you can't really see the crap I wipe on them throughout the day. Wash hands. Dry on jeans. Sneeze. Wipe on jeans. Dog slobber. Rub into jeans.

Like I said, there I was...eyeballin' all these jeans, trying to figure out which ones I wanted to try on when the buxom clerk walked up to me with a tape measure and asked if I wanted a bra fitting. Well heck yeah I did! No! No, really, I didn't. All I wanted was to snag a few pairs of jeans and get the heck outta there. And if that's what happened I wouldn't be telling this story, would I?

The clerk stood there looking me up and down, chin in hand, index finger tapping her lip, deep in thought. "Blue dot," she says. "Huh? Blue dot?" Says I. "Yes," she explains. "You see," she says, "studies have shown that larger women don't like the double digits in their dress sizes, it makes them feel...well... large...so we decided to revamp our store's entire sizing system and you, my dear, are a blue dot." Well ain't that some sh#*...ok, ok, fine, hand me the damn pants, and I'll put my big blue dot ass in 'em and we'll just see how this goes down. I mean, I don't want to feel LARGE, or anything...


I make my way to the dressing room, pull down my pants as fast as I can and slip on the new ones to find that they fit ok. Great, they button, they zip. I'm all set, that's all I need. I stop and realize for a moment that I am generally too hasty in this clothes shopping game but decide that I really don't care. I'm not in the mood for breathlessly trying on outfits for the next hour to find just the right one. These jeans ZIP UP! That's all I need to know, I'm OUTTA here. I'm DONE.

I proudly take my new blue dots to the register and pay entirely too much, but that's ok, 'cuz I'm in the "big store" where no skinny clerks are allowed and the fat girl section is not located DIRECTLY next to the maternity section. OMFG what flippin brainiac came up with that idea? Do you know how many maternity shirts I've mistakenly bought at Target? FML! Maybe, I dunno, just MAYBE, they could put maternity clothes next to the infant clothes??? But what do I know, I just work here....or whatever, you know what I mean. Major sidetrack, sorry...

I take my new clothes home and excitedly rip the tags off and throw those bad boys on. New clothes must be worn right away. Everyone knows this. I spend the next several hours relaxing at home, watching tv, doing dishes, talking on the phone in the new duds. It doesn't take long for me to absolutely abhor everything about these new fangled jeans. They're just weird. First of all, there is enough space in the back side for at least three asses. Not three cheeks, y'all. THREE.WHOLE.ASSES. That's right...SIX cheeks. They're like stretchy or something, so everytime I walk, more space stretches out for more asses. I don't know how big the clerk thought my stomach bone was, but I'm noticing that the top of the jeans are resting right under...well, right under my boobies, ok? This is not good. These are not polyester pants and this chick ain't 82 years old. I have a shape and it ain't the kool-aid man. Also...there's a weird smell. Burnt plastic, maybe? With a little bit of sulfur on the side. I do not like this smell. No. These pants are all wrong.

I know what you're thinking...why don't you take them back? And I swear, I had every intention to do it, but day after day, I'd remember, "Oh, I have to take those craptastic pants back!" And as soon as I'd remember, the thought had floated right on out of my head. And after a while the blue dots were part of my wardrobe, in the weekly laundry cycle, the last choice to wear for the day, mind you, but sometimes I do slip 'em on and silently curse the day I paid forty dollars so I wouldn't have to see a number in my pants. I've thus far been unsuccessful in finding any other asses to share them with. And honestly, if I took them back, what "size" would I exchange them for? Yellow triangles? Blue moons? You'll never get me lucky charms!

And now...for a completely inappropriate, yet funny picture, brought to you by Natalie Dee at http://www.nataliedee.com/