ranting to (and about) my new pants

[seldnei]

So I bought pants on my day off last week, and today I put on a pair of the new pants for work. Now, this particular pair, I had noticed in the store, had a patterned cloth on the inside for the pockets. I'd sort of glanced at it because I was more concerned with inseam length than interior-pocket-material, but today I took a good look.

The pattern is words. Affirmations, if you will.

You are gorgeous.

Um.

You are glamorous.

Yeah, see, I don't aim for glamour in my everyday life. Mostly I aim for intimidating as hell and multitasking like a boss.

You are sexy.

Okay, how do you even know? For all you know, pants of mine, I could be wearing you to build a death ray. You could be the pants I chose to wear whilst exacting my bloody revenge on all who wronged me; the pants I chose to wear as I finally put my plan for total megalomaniacal world domination into motion. You could be the pants I chose to wear as I ascended to my ice throne, as I built my magical chocolate factory, as I wrote the music that would make grown people weep even as it rewired their brains to make them better minions. All of this is, admittedly, very sexy ... but you don't know. You're pants.

You are stunning.

Annoying pants.

You are beautiful.

Annoying pants that I will most certainly not wear to build my death ray.