I really don’t blog about my pants enough. In fact, the last time I blogged about my pants, I was at MJ’s house and received a call from Freedom at like 6 in the morning and, well, now he inhabits the basement. Where will this pantastic blog lead?
I have spent the past few weeks freezing and running around trying to keep my pants up. While that’s normally an issue for other (awesomely pro-sex) reasons, lately, my pants are falling down NOT because of a guitar in my presence, but because they just don’t fit. And, they don’t provide warmth. And, really, they’re just old. Even my guilt-ridden yoga pants (ever felt guilty about wearing tennis clothes but not playing tennis? Heh.), are not cutting it in the size nor warmth categories that make Melia happy… in the pants.
But, friends, today, I declare that I am, again, happy in the pants! I have two pair of fleecy, fuzzy, warm monkey-printed pants that have pretty much made my soul complete.
Being so awesomely tingly in the pants, today has been a day of purging toys, trashing crap and generally putting my best Virgo foot forward. My house, at least 2/3 of the top floor, looks awesome. All because I could stroke my furry pants.