My Red Pants

Yes. I wore those pants for attention. I’m not even going to hide it. No one in their right mind wears chili pepper red pants that thinks to herself, I sure hope no one notices. 

It was a risk from the start. “Does my butt look big in these?” doesn’t even begin to cover the laundry list of pitfalls. But boy, they sure fit like a charm- tailored yet relaxed, bold yet not cheap looking.

Feeling confident & festive for the season, I paired my self-absorbed pants with a black top and leopard shoes. I was feeling mighty fine with all of the compliments on my bold attire. I even had the chance to exhibit their grace and flexibility when posing to pick up a friend’s scarf, telling passerbys I was contributing to the Christmas spirit. I took my lunch break to parole through the lobby, where I picked up a salad and shimmied my way back to my desk. Life was good.

As I so often do in a state of fashion euphoria, I kicked off my leopard slides and curled my legs criss cross on my desk chair. And just like that, I heard a buzz kill. Once again, I’d split my pants.

Black, denim, white…I don’t know, anything but red! Why the pants that say, “yes, survey me, yes, investigate me further” when there is an unforgiving gap the size of two quarters. And of course one knows never to wear bulky undergarments with red pants, so the viewing was ripe for the taking.  But there wasn’t time for a touch up or wardrobe change. Red pants or no pants- or somewhere in between- I had a job to do.

For the rest of the day when I wasn’t wearing my shearling trench coat, I shuffled like a toy soldier. The pants, miraculously, stayed together, despite my flamboyant ladies show and tell (more show than tell). The pants, now stitched back up and hung neatly in the closet, call to me like a Siren. It’s going to take me a little bit to get over the bruise, but I’ll come back to them again.

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