You may Kiss my Pants

My pants, my lovely pants. They are long enough for me and they are comfortable. They have pockets and beltloops. They are black with very faint white pinstripes. They fell on black days. They’ve felt the rain down in Africa. Their love don’t cost a thing.

Today, some things happened. First, I discovered that when you dress in pinstriped pants and a shirt with a collar and a sweater vest and carry a leather briefcase, the world is your oyster. People smile at you instead of looking away, drivers let you cross the street when it’s your turn because your heels are heeled in oxfords, not sneakers.

The man who sells you a tiny bottle of water for $1 shows no hint of scorn for your foolishness for paying so much for water. He knows you can afford it and he respects you for not caring. He calls you ma’am and bids you a good day.

The lingerie ladies at Sears say “good morning!” to you instead of frowning when you fondle the 70% off underwear. (one thing not purchased: a tanktop that said “tasty and delicious” with a glittery pineapple) They do not try to help you find your size. They trust that you are capable and competent in selecting your own undergarments. After all, your pants got the touch.

I felt like saying I’ll see you in court! every time I left a building. Or hand me my nose ring.

But – and I don’t mind this – even my superthreat pants can not prevent the people on public transit from talking to me. A man trying to make enough money for a coffee, with a jaw that did things no human jaw should do, told me many stories about his life, including the back story about the jaw. He got punched in the face by a guy who mistook him for another guy. He also told me I looked nice. He also said, “got no dough? go to the ‘ho!” a phrase I haven’t heard in quite a few years – probably since the last time I was at the ‘ho in question, being, of course, the Fabulous Ivanhoe Pub. Where beer is $1.50 a pint, the old men are fast with their pinching and the hipsters used to line up to enter until it became too mainstream and they moved on to the Old American.

Anyway, I am proud to announce that after almost a year without one, I have a job.

Despite this earthshattering news, here are some of the other things I did not buy today:

This Shoe
Or these ones, (for la petite banane, naturellment.)
Or Holy Crap! these ones.

Just wait till that first paycheque, though. Mama, I’m comin’ home.

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