RIP Pants

My pants died. My favorite pants in the whole world. :(

If I were a seamstress of any sort, I'd probably just patch 'em up and the sun would shine again and my heart could go on. But. You're talking to someone who tried to hem the legs of Colin's first Halloween costume because they were too long and ended up with clamdiggers. Clamdiggers really don't work when it's a cow costume.

Whatever, he didn't know any better.

Anyway, I'm mourning these pants, y'all. They were my favorite. I even dedicated the better part of a blog post to them once. Yeah, I confess: they were maternity pants. And okay, they were ... *whispers* polyester. But they were also THE BEST PANTS IN THE WORLD EVER, HANDS-DOWN.

Let me rephrase that, since "hands down" and "pants" are not usually paired in a G-rated sentence.

They were The Awesome. Stretchy and swingy and black ... like the proverbial "little black dress," versatile and classic. I bought them at Motherhood Maternity for a formal event when I was pregnant with Cameron, but they didn't look maternity. OR polyester. (Well, at least not cheap leisure-suit polyester.) They were just regular black pants with a regular waist. I think at the time I was a little put off by the price, but I ended up getting my money's worth a million times over. I wore them as dress pants, workout pants, pajamas, with a T-shirt and flip-flops, you name it. No matter how huge I got, they fit (dare I say flattered, when everything else looked like I was smuggling a watermelon on each hip) - almost like magic.  And even after I gave birth - and even after I lost 90 pounds - I could still wear them.

I'm not lying when I say that I'm so traumatized by this, I don't even remember how it happened. Whether it was an accidental rip or just an inevitable separation of the seams due to overuse, I'll never know. All I know is, now The Pants show a good four-inch expanse of my (blindingly white) inner thigh. And although I appreciate a good "airing out" as much as the next girl (what? Tell me you don't!), I think people would definitely notice. Plus ... wearing maternity pants is bad enough. Wearing ripped maternity pants is just over-the-edge frump, even for me.

So I guess it's goodbye, sweet Pants. I'll miss the way you so lovingly encased my rear in your polyester perfection. If there's a heaven, we'll surely meet again.

 ... Because there's no way I'm spending eternity in a white robe.