Pants

I was driving to Clackamas (the great pant search continues) in car wash conditions when someone stopped short up ahead on the other side of the wall of water we were all driving into. I don’t want to fucking BLAME anyone but whoever you were up there I hope you got the cherry out of your lap before permanent scarring occurred so that my almost death was worth it. I had to slam the brakes. Really. I had to brake like never before.  And when it was clear that slamming the brakes was not going to keep me from slamming into the car ahead of me I had to swerve OFF the fucking freeway. The guy behind me was such a copy cat he had to do it too. ‘Cause it looked that fucking cool which is fine but then he’s honking and waving me to get right back on the road and I had to turn around and give him the ole “Can’t a person shit their pants in peace?” sign and make him go ahead of me. I don’t like being bossed.

Then I’m wandering around The Clackamas Town Center (mall) in an adrenaline haze and find myself in Macy’s admiring the amazing positions they’re putting mannequins in these days. Up walks perky sales girl who says “Can I help you find something?” so for once I take a perky salesperson up on their offer and say “Yeah I’m looking for pants.” and she says “Any particular kind of pants?” and I say “Pants that fit.” and she says “Oh you can wear any pants.”  Well thank you very fucking much. That’s helpful. SO I turn to get the hell out of there and she’s chasing after me and I have to say “I gotta gooooo00oo0” panicky voiced and everything.  I’ve noticed my imaginary stay away from me bubble is extending beyond the three feet around me to encompass my entire reality.

The Man’s sis takes me in a store called Buckle. Anyone else think that’s the name of a small person dressed in chaps who has a sidekick miniature pony? Nope. It’s a store with pants. So I grab a pair of pants off a table and a guy is on me in seconds to ask if I want to try them on. “Yeah. I do.” I tell him and he asks “Have you gotten Lucky before?” and I say “I do okay.” and he says “No, have you worn Lucky pants before?” and I say “oh yeah I think I have.” SO I’m in there and I change into the pants and there’s his voice at the door (ack!) “Do you love them?” and I say “Not so much.” and he says “What part?” and I’m thinking who the fuck IS this guy, we’re best friends now? He wants to discuss the details of the pants with me? So I just open the door and show n’ tell him “The button fly needs one more button and there’s a lotta fabric happening in the back that I’m not filling up.”  So he determines the size and shape and cut and brand I need and he goes and he gets them. I try them on and they fit. And I’m not in love with them. They’re not THE PANTS especially ‘cause there’s a lotta fray on the pockets that makes me think of these pants my mom has that are a road map of  nineties fray but I still bought them. I need pants. I WANT the pants, but in the meantime I must be panted. And he gives me a little card with all these notes and says next time I should bring it and I’ll know what I want. I think the code on the card would be translated to “not THE pants but pants that are okay for now”  At the register he wants my fucking phone number, email address, facebook, twitter, and would like very much to attatch gps to my phone. I say "yeah no." and he says "WHAT IF YOU WANT TO BRING THE PANTS BACK?" like I'm insane to risk this. "I don't bring things back" and that's the truth. Just ask my sister.