Sunday Reflections: The Duplicity of White Pants

Good Morning America just told me white pants will be very chic againimage this year. I threw a pillow at the TV.

When, WHEN will we learn it is time to break up, once and for all, with white jeans.

Oh, I know, I know, you love your white pants, and now you think I’m a hater.  I’m not; I love mine too, sort of.

White pants are the mean, popular girls of the clothing world.  She’s magnetic and powerful; you can’t help but love her.  But she doesn’t deserve it!

She knows your secrets and blabs them to the world:

She sees you at the gym.  She watches as you dump the kids in childcare and slowly meander to the locker room.  She watches while you cheat; while you undress and take a long, hot, uninterrupted shower, while you wrap yourself in an over-sized towel and sit in the sauna.  She is aware you didn’t do one squat or run one mile.

She doesn’t care about your hard day.  About the tantrums and errands and endless list of “didn’t go rights’; she’s going to make you pay for your fraud.  When you pull her from the locker, feeling relaxed and rejuvenated, she’s going to do what she does best; she’s going to cling, and glimmer, and illuminate, she’s going to draw everyone’s eye to her, to you, to that place above your knee or behind your thigh– that place with the lump and bump and ripple.  You know, the spot you were supposed to be working on working out.  She will show it to them all!

She uses your secrets against you.

She knows you ate that chocolate bar.   That forgotten piece of Halloween candy you found wedged, still wrapped, under the car seat?  She knows you ate it. She knows you sat in the pickup line at school, slouched down below the steering wheel, and shoved the whole thing in your mouth, desperate to get it eaten before the kids came out.

She also knows how careful you were.  How you unhinged your jaw to get it eaten in one bite.  She knows you carefully folded the wrapper to avoid any crumbs escaping and marring your perfect pants.  What she’s not telling you, is one, almost microscopic, sliver found its way to her.  And jerk that she is, she absorbed it and spread it into a giant smear right across your crotch.

She holds a grudge

You dared to eat in her presence?  She will not forgive you.  I don’t care how much bleach you use or what dry cleaner you take her to, that stain is never coming out.  Period.

And speaking of periods, don’t even think about it!

She gossips about you:

“OMG,” she sneers, “Do you see what I see???  I love it when this lady forgets to do her laundry! Her only pair of seamless, nude underwear aren’t clean, so she thought she’d go comando!  Can you believe it????  Haha, she thinks no one can tell!”

She’s totally two faced:

She tells you, “you look great.”  You peer in the mirror, admire yourself and agree.  “I can totally rock these,” you think.  “I look hot and on trend; I’m a mom in white jeans!  I’m fashionable AND brave.”  Pleased with yourself you go off to chaperon your son’s zoo field trip. What a great day it will be, the weather is warm and the sun is shining.

Then three days later the teacher posts trip pictures on Facebook, and your pleasure turns to horror when you spot the tramp-stamp you got at 18 very clearly through the back of the pants!

You race to your room to try them on and are confused.  In the light of your bedroom, they look fine.  Completely opaque…

She’s an excellent seductress:

You know she’s bad for you.  You know you’ll never be happy with her.  You know she will just make you feel paranoid, self-conscious and uncomfortable.  But there she is, in the store, lined up so perfectly with the others.  A row of jeans that screams order and purity; you can’t help yourself.  She’d look so good with that denim shirt you bought last week, or with your pink sweater and tan flats.

Jezebel that she is, she uses her beauty, her spotless image, to draw you in, make you believe you need her, buy.  But beware, her beauty is fleeting!

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