the pants

I washed my pants yesterday.
Ok, I know that doesn't sound like a big deal, and actually to some of you it probably is upsetting that it could be such a big deal...
But when you wash jeans they tend to get tighter. And I was afraid.
These pants were known as the uncomfortable pants. But then my pants supply became diminished. And they went from "the uncomfortable pants" to "the only pants". We had bonded. I was afraid at first. But then we grew to fit each other. We were comfortable. But our relationship reached the point that I suppose every relationship does; the point where it just gets to be embarrassingly dirty, and you have to put it in the washer and hope the form doesn't get lost, and that all it will take is a few lunges across the apartment to make them fit again.

Sure. Like you've never heard that analogy for a relationship before.

Yes, I know. Its hard to believe that a person, a woman no less, could have one pair of pants.
But I refuse, REFUSE I say, to buy another pair. At least for a loooong time. I have a bag full of previous fitting pants that really are fine. Cute actually. And those shall be the pants I will wear. There will be no new pants.
There are pants here, that are fine. It just takes some dadgum self discipline.
So, in the meantime while self discipline sits floating out of my reach, I will punish myself for my lack of grasp, and wear the same pants. Every day.
And we will become old friends. And we will grow to hate each other.
And in the end, it will take the disintegration of time to separate me from my pants, and awkwardly join me with the rest of the world.

Anyone want to go shopping?