"I've never owned a really good-smelling pair of pants before."

A cookie for the first person to tell me who I'm quoting in the title up there.

So, I have a pair of black leather pants sitting here in my office. I ordered them on a semi-whim the other day while shopping for pants online (you know you need new trousers when every pair you own has a dropped or ripped hem). I feel a little funny about the whole issue- I am now someone who (apparently) will not eat the cow, but will eagerly shell out money to wear it.

I'm conflicted, folks. I've briefly entertained the idea of leather pants in the past, but always dismissed it as ridiculous, over-the-top, Just Not Me. And also, think of the poor cows. Oh god, the poor cows. But this pile of leather is sitting very calmly on a file cabinet near my desk, gently teasing me with how agreeable it feels on my skin, how the light reflects so softly off its surface that I'm reminded of lush summer evenings and fireflies delicately blinking hello against the backdrop of a child's fingers.

But the cows! People putting on their skin and dancing around! How barbaric! Is it not enough that I won't wear fur? How is leather the exception to this issue? Will I wear these over-the-top pants out in Dallas some night and come home with red paint all over me? Wait, who am I kidding? This is Texas. I'll probably have large men in baseball caps with wads of tobacco tucked in their cheeks approaching me all night, asking if I have any of the cow left back home, and could they come over if they bring their own A-1.

(I think that last bit took a turn for the slightly perverted, somehow. Not overtly, mind you, just that it gave off a strange vibe towards the end there and I'm not sure how to turn it around.)

I don't know if I'm charging a huge amount against my karmic credit line by keeping these pants, and I have absolutely no idea which venues call for being clad in leather (please hold your comments 'til the end). All I know is that when I tried the leather pants on in the office today I felt rebellious, risque, and a little like a rock star.

Of course, that could have been because I forgot to close the blinds before I tried them on.

2 comment:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

Remember that time you couldn't get the pants off, and Chandler told you to use baby powder, and then the powder basically turned to paste because it mixed with the sweat from being nervous that you couldn't take the pants off?! Hilarious!

Wait, you don't know a Chandler.

I think you should take solace in knowing that while some fat fucker is chowing on a burger, you're putting the old Native American "use the whole buffalo" notion to good use.

Just don't take any poisoned blankets from pilgrims. Because they're poisoned, dummy!


5:56 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

No Chandler, but you did know a Garfield once, though.


5:58 PM  

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