Dear Garments in my Pants Drawer Masquerading as my Friends,
We need to talk. Maybe you’re dieting, maybe you’re on an exercise kick, maybe you just cut that afternoon soda, but recently, you’ve changed. You used to be forgiving and kind, always ready to provide flattery and comfort. I could take you anywhere and never regret my choice. You had perfect manners and your behavior was all that is exemplary in a pair of pants.
However, I’ve noticed that you’re no longer the garments I took in so many years ago. You’re snippy with me, and you’re uptight, and you are often cutting. You make me look bad in front of my friends, and my mirror, and you also make me uncomfortable. And to say you’ve become judgmental is an understatement! Pick, pick, pick. Pinch, pinch, pinch. Crack, crack, crack. Is there no end to your evil ways??
After we’ve been together so long, I expected better of you. And that is why I will be favoring my REAL friends yet again, Miss Yoga Pants and Mr. PJs. Sure, they aren’t quite as experienced in the social niceties of “leaving the house” and “looking like I bathed”, but with the right shirts to help them stumble through the challenges, we can work with that.
Or maybe I’ll just prove I can do without you ENTIRELY. How would you like that? Madame Mou-Mou is much nicer to me, and so is Susie Swingdress. THEY never threaten to slice me in half when I bend over. THEY never ride me up in the no-no place like some kind of denim dominatrix. And when I’m done with them, they sweetly subside into the dirty laundry without leaving red marks all over me, tracery of the torture I was forced to endure.
Don’t think I can’t quit you, mean pants. Because I can. So you’d better shape the hell up and change back into the garments who once swore to love and protect me, through sickness and in health, until death or really indecent holes in the crotch do us part.