Tuesday, July 15, 2008


I have a favorite pair of pants. They are black and they are Marc Jacobs and they drape beautifully. I love them. Whenever I can't figure out what to wear in the morning, I grab those and any top, and I know I'll feel good about myself all day.

Only thing is, I've had the pants for four years now. Four beautiful years. And now, they are getting holes in the crotch. I say holes, but they are more like places where my thighs have rubbed together and rubbed the fabric raw. Both sides of the legs where my thighs touch--yep, worn completely through.

So, I have to get rid of the black pants. Or I guess I should get rid of the black pants. But they're still sitting in my closet, because I just can't bear to throw them away, even if they are completely worn through. And they were a fashion item, meaning not a staple, meaning I can't buy them again, EVER. I suppose it's tantamount to your favorite color of lipstick being discontinued--that perfect red that took you 32 tubes worth of tries to find, and now that you have the color that flatters you perfectly, it's being discontinued. Which puts you on the hunt for another perfect color, and in my case, on another hunt for a perfect pair of black pants.

Right now it makes me sad, but I'm quite sure as I wade through the sea of black trousers available and find none that compare to my favorite, worn out pair at home, I'll become mad. In fact, you can count on it.

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