I may have mentioned a few (dozen) times that I’m in a play this week…? Possibly? And one of the super things about putting on a production of The Vagina Monologues is that it really doesn’t require any sort of set or costuming or anything. Basically the director picks a theme for what the cast will wear and then everyone goes home and pulls something out of their closet and whatever. Boom. Done.
Last year we had to wear black, purple and gray, in whatever combinations we wanted. That was really easy, frankly, since I wear those three colors kind of a lot, anyway. This did not stop me, however, from going out last year and buying some, umm, SPECIAL pants for the show. In my defense, they were on clearance. Also in my defense, I was doing the “angry vagina” monologue and I really wanted to wear something kind of hardcore that I would never ordinarily wear. Further in my defense, SHUT UP, it is TOTALLY not weird that I bought some faux snakeskin black, shiny skinny jeans.
[Chickadee was horrified. Like, asked me over and over to confirm that I would never, ever, under any circumstances, wear them “for real” any time other than the show. Her horror amused me, but not to the point where I wore them anywhere else. Because they are ridiculous and that was the point.]
So this year, I had no intention of wearing my ridiculous pants, partly because I am still not entirely sure how I managed to wear them in the first place without bursting into flames, and partly because my part is very different this year. [VERY DIFFERENT. My character is supposed to be 93. Pretty sure she’s not into snakeskin pants.] No matter! I have a couple of pairs of black jeans, and I happened to pick up a pretty purple blouse a few months ago… I figured I was set.
Well. This year we’re wearing all black. ALL BLACK. I wore a pair of black jeans to rehearsal one night and asked the director if those would be okay, and she pointed out that they really weren’t black. Huh. She was right; they’re a faded black, so more like a dark gray. Dammit. Fine; I could wear my OTHER black jeans. Except I couldn’t, because they are also kind of gray. DAMMIT. Well, surely I have a pair of black pants in my closet…?
Apparently during my last closet purge I got rid of my black pants. Whoops? (Maybe they didn’t fit. I don’t remember.) So: no black pants.
Now, I don’t HAVE to wear pants. I have black skirts! I have a black dress! But… I really want to wear pants. We sit around on the floor and stuff, and let’s face it, I’m kind of a klutz, and I really would just like to minimize the possibility of flashing the audience at any point during the show. Just sayin’.
Thus began the Hunt For Black Pants. I started with out local thrift stores, per usual. My first outing resulted in a new purse but no pants. Whoops! The next few outings resulted in a lot of trying on but no actual buying. And it was then that I remembered that I have a long history of Pants Woes and I was probably being ridiculous, thinking I could find something that fit on relatively short notice. I’d burned several perfectly good Saturday afternoons shopping and grumbling and coming home empty-handed.
Mind you, it doesn’t help that I am not exactly where I wish I was, weight-wise, at the moment. I am, as I like to summarize it, “feeling a little soft.” That means that no, I am not overweight, I am just out of shape, and the shape I AM has a little more… erm… pliability… than I wish I had. Ahem.
Finally, on a day when we had Activities in both the morning and the afternoon—with a brief(ish) break in-between—I bribed Monkey. “If you will behave and be patient while I try on some pants at the mall, I will buy you greasy mall pizza for lunch. Okay?” He was game. This did not stop him from narrating my entire search at Macy’s, much to the delight of eavesdropping sales associates. (“Mom, you have two pairs, go try them on and let’s go. Why do you need more? What do you mean they don’t make pants for people like you? WHO DO THEY MAKE THEM FOR? Okay, you have four pairs, now, that’s enough. I’m hungry so you have to hurry up. I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be rude. I’m just telling you, I’m hungry. EIGHT PAIRS, MOM? REALLY?? YOU ONLY HAVE TWO LEGS.”)
You never saw someone as happy as Monkey was when I came out of the dressing room, holding a pair aloft in a victory gesture.
So now I have black pants for the show. But—you knew there was a but, right?—they’re… snug. I mean, they fit. Mostly. I just need to maybe really commit to exercising regularly. And I totally have been, since I bought them a few weeks ago. But I haven’t tried them on again. I’m sure they’ll be fine. Or I can just hold my breath… for the whole show. No problem. Or I can just, I dunno, embrace any resultant muffin-top as part of my woman-power. Or something.
But they’re cute pants, at least. (I totally can’t remember where I was going with this. Something about pants? I have pants. Yes.)