“Dear Stretched Out Yoga Pants:
How are you? That’s great. It’s great to see you. Yeah. So. Can I have a minute? No–no thanks…I’m OK—these jeans are really comfortable. What? They are. They’re pretty stretchy. I mean, not stretchy like you of course, but pretty good, pretty good.
Listen, I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a while now. No–don’t get scared. I think you and I both knew this was coming.
(long dramatic sigh)
There comes a time in every relationship when someone has to step back and maybe take a look at the bigger picture? Today might be one of those times.
Stretched Out Yoga Pants, you and I have been through a lot together; pregnancies, trips to Costco, trips to Costco while pregnant, unexplained stains (possibly acquired at Costco)—all unforgettable…
Never yoga though! Haha–no. Never actual real live yoga. I can’t get into it. Whatever. It’s very time consuming.
Gosh–when I think about it, we’ve shared so many great memories. (I mean, not that time we were photographed together, that was not a great memory. That was a low point, quite frankly) but otherwise yeah, there have been good times.
No—I’m fine. I don’t want to put you on right now, I’m trying to say something here. Please. Please don’t make this harder than it needs to be. OK fine. I’ll put you on. There. Happy now?
(takes deep breath. Releases stomach)
That was mean. Right there, what you did back there–that was mean, because you know how hard this is for me, and I feel like you’re just egging me on–just daring me to say what we both know needs to be said. (Oh God. You’re so comfortable. I feel so good when I’m wearing you. When I’m wearing you I just want to work my way through a box set of Damages and some Thin Mints so badly I can almost taste it…)
You know. I love you. You’re purple, for God’s sake–I love purple things.
But here’s the thing.
I made a very specific request for my husband to get rid of a few things from his closet. Let’s say they were pants. Let’s say they were pants that were possibly from another era. Pants that fit perfectly when my husband was thirty pounds heavier–when pants were worn high, and frayed at the bottom, and wide, and not fit for human interactions of any sort. They weren’t even at the level of grocery-store-pants.
I requested that those pants be cast out of the closet, and in return…well…EVERY MARRIAGE IS ABOUT COMPROMISE OK? It’s COOL. And you have to GO, and OK–here we go with the waterworks…Damn it. I said I wasn’t going to DO THIS.
Get off my body, GO AWAY FROM ME. Get out of here you beautiful stretched out purple bastards!”
End dream sequence.
Purple pants tucked carefully in the corner, so as to avoid damning glare of husband. Take care to conceal them with a judiciously placed corner of similarly ugly Stretched Out Sweatshirt.
Sigh of relief.
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