Today, for some bizarre, I-must-have-been-crazy reason, I am wearing the stupid ridiculous pants.
These particular pants look just fine to the casual observer (that's how they suckered me in) but are possessed of two things that are torturous in the extreme.
First, they have a hook-and-eye closure at the side, and not a button in the front, guaranteeing that I'll have to twist my body in a really odd and uncomfortable position in order to see this itty bitty little hook so that I can undo it.
Second, the zipper jams. I don't know why. I've made sure it's not snagging on fabric and it's not. I've rubbed paraffin wax on the zipper to no avail, as it still has a tendency to jam. Couple that with the itty bitty hook-and-eye in the really uncomfortable side placement, and the fact that I vowed to drink a gallon of water a day in this new year, and you have some serious agony, lots of expletives and a whole lot of second-guessing myself over buying these damn pants no matter how good they make my ass look.
For real fun, you can pair them with the painful, ludicrous shoes. Those are the ones that everyone compliments me on (thereby reinforcing my need to wear them) all while I wince with every step and moan with relief after I pry them from my shriveled and twisted feet at the end of the work day.
Honestly. Why do we women do this to ourselves? You don't see men wearing painful shoes or pants they have to practice contortionist tricks to remove. They'd never put up with that nonsense.
I will never wear these things again.
I mean it this time.
But I'm going to wash them and hang them in the closet, instead of giving them away to Goodwill or whatever. And in a few weeks I'll put them on again because I forgot to do laundry and they're hanging right there and I'll tell myself I can grin and bear it for a day.
Only I'm not grinning.
Stupid ridiculous pants. I hate myself for loving you.
Okay, 'fess up. What do you wear that you hate yourself for?