My favorite pants disappeared. Its odd, really. Incomprehensible. I don’t quite understand how or why, nor do I remember taking them off at some random place and walking away pant less. My van doors remain closed when I undress giving them no chance to fall out. Yet perhaps, they are high spirited and decided to run off on their own accord. Given I found them at a thrift store some years ago, this could even be their second escape.
They weren’t just any pants, they were wool pants, 100% wool in fact. High waisted, they caused a snugness above my belly button which was an unusually feeling compared to the comfortable low waisted pants I normally wore. Yet, this felt so interesting that the feeling was accepted. Besides, the flat belly appearance they gave off was appealing. Their pockets were deep and warm, making me trust nothing could ever fall out. They didn’t even itch for a liner was sewn on the inside that made them flow and feel silky soft to the touch, and when the cold wind blew, I couldn’t even tell.
They were kind of fancy. It was the high waist and wool quality that did it. They looked best worn with a tucked in shirt so you could see the many buttons and small belt that weaved in and out of a thick loop. Tucking in the shirt made them look so classy, perhaps, you’d not even recognize me in them. Shame Elizabeth didn’t get to see them; she would have appreciated. Wearing them on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, they were the only pants I owned without rips and stains that suited the occasion. Regardless, their brown colour would have easily camouflaged any contamination.
Perhaps my pants just got tired of me; wanting a new life outside of the van they opted to escape. I imagine they walked back north, where they are better suited to the colder temperatures. Where we were, they barely got out but for the two days when the desert sun decided not to shine and the rain pelted from the heavens. It was after those cold days when I noted their odd disappearance.
Its torment not finding them, and even more, suffering from my silly attachment to them, but they were quality and I appreciate quality. It isn’t every day you come across these sort of pants. Perhaps they are an easy find at normal stores, but why bother with new when there is a world of used and slightly bruised at our finger tips.
Despite the loss, with a blind hope that someone found them, I’ve been scouring the local thrift stores looking for them while every small lady that passes me is subject to a leg inspection. Upon finding them, I imagined myself approaching the person. I would ask to see the label and if there was a match, I’d explain that the pants they were wearing were really mine, but understanding that some attachment may have occurred, I’d offer money and the pants i was wearing for exchange. If that didn’t work, I imagine more drastic measure such as a wrestling match or challenge of sorts. Yet sadly, empty hangers and legs has left part of me to accept that they are no longer and all I have is this stupid story left to remember them. (Realistically, I don’t care THAT much, but if you do happen to see them walking around, please don’t hesitate…)
Thanks for reading such nonsense.