Talk to the Pants
I love you when I see you on a rack that says “Petite”. In fact, I can hardly control myself as I approach you.
I don’t love that you are the only pair in my size.
I love that you’re on sale.
I don’t love you when I try you on. You lied. Your tag says for 5’3” and under, but your inseam says 28”. OK, maybe that works for the 5’3” woman, but not someone who has gradually shrunk to five feet.
I don’t love that I must decide: do I buy you and pay to have you hemmed to my 26 ½” inseam or leave you on the fitting room floor?
I try to love the way you feel on my body when I put you on. Enough room in the waist and the butt doesn’t sag like a kid in a full diaper.
I don’t, however, love all the stretch you have. I’ve been there before. By the time I leave home, the knees will have wrinkled- looking like synthetic cellulite and the cuffs will be over my shoes.
I don’t love the dilemma that persists. Buy you and have you not only hemmed but taken in at the knees; wear you with a high heel; or pretend no one will notice you are dragging on the floor.
While I don’t hate what comes next, I can’t say that I love it. I look longingly at you as I hold you in my arms, always wondering if there’s a chance I’ll grow taller, or my legs grow longer. I sigh and look for another rack, one I’ve relied on many times before.
Head down and muttering words that are beyond “R” rated, I hand the cashier my credit card and place two pairs of capris with 26 ½ inseams on the counter.
