Cleaning Out My Closet/Red Pants

I'm not going to lie, I have not worn pants much over the last few months.
It has been a summer full of cutoffs and tailored shorts. It has nothing to do with the warm weather. I guess are shorts are more socially acceptable in the summer, but I'll take any excuse I can get. No, my dear friends, the truth is that shorts make your legs look longer, and, as we all know, I need all the help I can get in that department. I tell most people that I am five feet tall. I am lying to those people. I am almost five feet tall.
Also, recently, I obtained the ability to cut off shorts to the perfect length. After years of accidentally cutting beautiful pairs of pants into the tiniest, ass-bearingest hot shorts, the kind only suitable for 2 Live Crew videos, I have finally gotten to the point where I can wield a pair of sewing scissors with confidence. There is no bigger bummer than looking down at the floor at a pile of shorn fabric that could've been an amazing pair of shorts, if you'd just cut a little straighter, and with less reckless abandon. These moments were so traumatic that I had to learn how to do it the right way. Finally... Fifty pair of pants later.

Right now, my closet is full of a million great pairs of cutoffs, loose tanks, and deck shoes. Jumpers, adorable bathing suits, and leather sandals. By this time of year, I have a full summer wardrobe, ready to go. This would be a dream come true, if it weren't for the fact that we are exactly ten days away from the beginning of fall. I'm saying this through gritted teeth, but it's time for me to clean out my closet, and put on some fucking pants.

I try to start every season with a good closet cleaning. 'Try' being the key word, because I have a really hard time letting go of clothes. I am so anal about avoiding clutter in every other aspect of my life that I have thrown out my healthcare card mid-cleanup three times, and yet check out my closet- it's full of a bunch of old Cosby sweaters from when I was going through a "wacky phase" about five years ago. Any hint of common sense would be telling me to get rid of the sweaters. Give them back to the thrift store from whence they came. They'll never come back into style....
Or would they? I still think they look totally fabulous with high-tops and a thick gold chain around around my neck (truth be told, if I wore this out somewhere, I'm sure my ass would get laughed back to 2005). Who knows, in a year or two I might want to rock the Cos' again. Things come back into style. Sometimes I force things to come back into style. I do what I want.
This is where my resistance to tossing of old clothing grows it's strongest, because it never fails: two weeks after I get rid of a piece of clothing, I am apt to figure out a fine way to wear such piece. Then, I spend an hour scavenging through the house, hoping and praying and wishing that I did not donate donate said piece to charity. It's always too late. I always learn the hard way.

On the positive side, it should be noted that cleaning out a closet is an excellent time to ditch all of the shirts that are stained and full of holes. Normally, I save these clothes for "work shirts", but I think I'm starting to blend in a little too well with the street kids. Mostly, though, I am making room for my new fall wardrobe! Let the shopping begin, fools.

Last weekend, I tried on one million pairs of pants. Maybe one trillion. You see, my body is of the "hard to fit" type. My inseam and waist are roughly the same size. True story. 27 inches. Every pair was too long or too tight or gave me a "pants boner" when I sat down. I was getting pretty upset about the whole thing, and that's when they appeared. Like a mirage in the dessert, a pair of red slacks rose from the racks and saran-wrapped themselves around my legs. I thought they may not be real; perhaps I was dreaming. I wasn't sure a perfect pair of pants existed in the world, but here they were, making me look ten pounds thinner and three inches taller. With heels, I might be able to pull off 5'3"!

At first I was wary; I'm not normally comfortable with the attention that crimson trousers may attract. Painfully shy people should be mindful of bright clothing. It may not surprise you guys to know that I am a bit of a lone wolf... I often show up to things by myself so that I can disappear into the crowd. Hide. Fade away. However, I feel different in these pants. Bolder. Louder. Stronger, I guess. Ready to take on another autumn, no matter how much I wish it was still July. Man, I wish it was still July.

~sarah p.

p.s. Yesterday, I considered, briefly, writing a post with some sort of reference to 9/11 programming "hyjacking" the airwaves. It was cute, it was clever, it was a terrible joke that I feel sort-of bad about ever cultivating in my awful brain. I left it alone, and got a little mad at myself. I guess this new found restraint is some sort of proof that, after almost thirty years, I have acquired some sort of maturity, however minimal. Maybe I should go buy some reading glasses, eat some oatmeal, go to bed at 9PM, read The Financial Post, and stop buying penny candies while I'm still on a roll...