I no longer wear pants, and other Sunday night thoughts

So, I don't wear pants anymore.

You head me.

I don't wear them.

You want to know why?

Some dude with a personal vendetta against his mother and all other women with hour glass, or ehem, 24 hour glass figures decided that skinny jeans was an awesome idea and somehow, the boot cut got bumped to the Mom jean.  Like, overnight.  Or, three years ago.  Anyway.  I just didn't feel like it was fair to have my only options be the "skinny" jean, meant for skinny people, or the, well, the Mom jean.  ( And do not tell me all about how I'm just wearing them wrong and they all have lycra for added stretch and comfort and all that other nonsense.   If I can manage to squeeze myself into a pair, it has to be on a day that I'm fasting from peeing.  And eating.  And bending down for any reason.)

So, I staged a coup in my closet, and overthrew all those bastards.  Which totally made it easier to see all the other stuff lurking in the back, behind the rainbow of unworn, lycra laden trousers.  And that's when I saw them.

Skirts!

Beautiful, flowy, feminine skirts.

Skirts that are both comfortably high-waisted and fashionable.

I tried them all on.

My mama tummy wasn't pinched or turning red in anger.

I could still breath.

And drink a cup of tea.

Or eat a hamburger.

AND STILL FEEL FINE.

Pretty, even.

Sold.

Henceforth, the end of my career as a pants wearer.

I have also taken to writing all of my to-do lists in crayon.  Mostly because they are the most available writing implements covering my house right now.  Not because Ellie loves to color, but because I had hoped she would love to color and purchased all kinds of said crayons only to discover that she much preferred all of my pens, which is why I can never find any of them and all of my grocery lists are now  in Burnt Sienna.  However, I hadn't anticipated how writing monotonous, sometimes troublesome lists are made much more whimsical when you must write them in crayon.  Firstly, the tip is thicker which means you have to write less things to do.  Excellent.  Next, writing a reminder to pay the cellphone bill is much more calming when penned in a seafoam green- almost enough to forget how much it is.  And how I forgot to pay it last month.  Should have written it in crayon.

And, to wrap up my scattered Sunday night thoughts, my daughter has turned into an insane human being who wears sneakers and has "friends" and doesn't want me to hold her hand anymore and says things like, "No thanks, I'm fine" and, "I'd really rather have..." and I'm terribly distressed at this strange turn of events that has my baby speaking full paragraphs to strangers and wearing hoodies and shops in the big kid section.

So distressed, in fact, that I might have to console myself with just a little bit of chocolate.

Thank God I'm wearing a skirt.