Saturday, March 1, 2008

I am so in your pants right now

Dear Neighbor,

Last weekend, you and I did our laundry. I was the filmy troll with the enormous breasts. You were the cute thing with the glossy hair and the pink-trimmed sneakers. I give you credit, girl. You've got a great ass. But I still wouldn't want to be you - and it's not (only) because I am the one with the graduate degree and the additional one (or two) decades of rich, meaningful, soul-refining life experience.

I wouldn't want to be you, neighbor, because I know for a personal fact that no matter how well your week went, it was, in fact, a disaster. I know this because while your ass may be cute, it is not......

Well. I think you know.

Let me turn now to the painful subject of your laundry error. You hastily extracted your garments from the dryer without ensuring that the drum was empty. Otherwise, how could I have placed my own garments in that same dryer, hit the 40 minute low heat cycle, and six hours later extracted the wonder of your pants?

True, the error is half mine. I did not carefully examine the dryer to ensure that it was unoccupied. I did not think to clean the lint trap or add a dryer sheet, either. I, like you, was in a hurry. I am also at fault for not noticing, as I was folding my garments last weekend, that the inky black wonderous sweatpants with the extra perfecty-perfect waistband and the flattering drape were not in fact my all time favorite DKNY track pants. Your pants and my pants are similar. Just different. I folded your pants and put them in my closet. Right next to my other track-y sweat pant-y stretchy clothes. (Shut up).

Only this morning, a week later, when I reached into the stretchy pants pile and unfolded your wondrously comfortable pants - and applied them to my own ass - did I realize my error. Unfortunately for you, I also discovered that you are the owner of the dearest, bestest, coziest, cutest sweatpants ever blessed by Mary, Virgin Mother of God and Patroness of House-Pants.* I have never, ever in the history of gaining and losing the same ten pounds, ever felt the way I feel about this pair of pants.

To put it plainly, I am in love. And no, this is not drunken late night bar sniffed a little something can I take a hit off that sure you can grab my ass infatuation. Neighbor, this is solid, true, cold light of six in the morning just out of the shower uncaffeinated devotion. I am not crushing on your pants. I am in love.

I am right now, as we speak, wiggling around at my desk in their voluminous, fluffy, coziness.

Love.

I want these pants.

Now, technically, neighbor, I have your pants. See above re: wiggling.

What is bothering me, of course, is that I do not own your pants. I realize that it is trashy and in poor taste and maybe even a little bit hygienically ill-advised to even make the suggestion to follow herewith, but neighbor, I must own these pants. It is not enough to simply have them for a day. I want to marry them and wear them forever and ever and ever. Amen.

If you wish to enter into negotiations with me regarding the formal unification of me and your pants, please see the doorman. To prove your title, please identify the designer, the size, and the location and circumference of the one barely even noticeable hole. If you pass security clearance, the door man will give you my apartment number and you may visit me and your pants at your leisure. I will likely be wearing your pants when you arrive, which makes your bargaining position both better and worse.

I look forward to your visit.

(You are never getting these pants back).

Your neighbor,

Nina



*

17 comments:

nicoleantoinette said...

No way you can ever give those back, they sound amazing.

Finders, keepers. No?

LizB said...

Just pretend they are the traveling pants, and it's your turn to have adventures.

I so do not miss sharing a laundry room with an entire building of people.

LAS said...

Definitely, absolutely, do not give those pants back. You are awesome!

Em said...

I think I would feel really weird wearing those pants if I were you. I don't think I could do it!

malinthemiddle said...

Posession is 9/10ths of the law, and wearing them makes it 10/10th harder to reclaim them. Say 10 Haily Marys to Our Lady of House Pants for the guilt you will most assuredly (eventually) feel. Oh, and I would watch your laundry really well from now on so that she does not return the favor.

Julie said...

I'd totally keep the pants. But then, the lady at K-Mart rang up my envelopes and not my pair of jeans, gave me the jeans but not the envelopes, and I considered us square.

That's my sin of the year.

cajunvegan said...

Each and every time that happened to me when I was still living in an apartment (and, yes, it happened more than once) I was "gifted" with the fugliest t-shirt imaginable.

You are a keeper (just like those pants).

Annie said...

I am with em, I would feel too guilty, but they do sound awesome :-)

Ki said...

Smile of pure joy.

Behold all is well, thank you patron-pantess.

Dan said...

One of the reasons I found this post so amusing was that in england the word pants means underwear.

UrbanHippieMama said...

rich and i are laughing our ASSES off (unfortunately, in our own pants)!!!

could you please share the exact make and model of these pants, after that information is no longer top secret (so that the cute girl with the nice as can pass security clearance)? i need to get me some of these pants.

and, we need a picture of you in the pants. :) imjustsayin...

Neil said...

Finders, keepers is the law.

ingrid said...

I loved this. Thanks. :)

Avitable said...

You're not a filmy troll!

Woodrow said...

Thief!

You have to give them back.

Chiroptera said...

You could, perhaps, knit her some mittens in exchange for the pants.

Maggie said...

I approve of the mitten idea....