Comfort is Crotch-less Yoga Pants

Welcome. I see that the title caught your eye.

I Hate Pants

I must say that I didn’t come up with it. Rather, I am in a league of unacquainted women who simply detest pants. This title is our motto. If you need me to paint a better picture, envision a maxi skirt flowing so long that one would have to daintily hold its fabric between thumb and index finger, in order to prevent premature death, from tripping over its elegant cotton fabric to face each and every creaky wooden step of the staircase.

That, my dear readers, is the quintessential crotch-less yoga pant. It is the maxi skirt.

Around 2 PM, I began daydreaming of how comfortable I was going to get once I got home from my snail-paced office day. My plan? Walk in the door. Kick off the shoes. Climb the stairs to my apartment’s 2nd floor and enter my bedroom. But…would the pants even make it that far? Yes, they would because I was determined. FINALLY free of the dreadful lower limb straight jackets, I clutched the navy fabric to my bosom. Yes! I have arrived at the ultimate comfort level!

Quickly, I dressed and carefully walked down the stairs. Oddly enough, I felt dressier now that I was in my moderated pajamas. Settling into the corner of my comfy couch, I chatted with family and friends until the iPhone battery’s warning light appeared. 20%. So what…the 20% light is the same as the gas light. You keep it moving because you know that you’ll make it.

About 10 minutes later, the 10% message lights up. I slowly move from the couch to search for my charger. A family member is in mid-conversation about something that she is passionate about. I can’t hang up now. So, I ease back onto the couch in support of her outpouring of emotions.

At the end of our conversation, I squint to check the battery power. 3%. No problem. I’ll simply grab the charger that I LEFT AT THE OFFICE!!!!!!

Panic ensued! Life’s questions began to attack. “Do I ignore it? What if my family and friends think that something is wrong? What will I use as my alarm clock? How will I know the time?” (I broke the “old fashioned” clock by trying to open a can of Pillsbury Cinnamon Rolls two days ago, but that is another post for another day.)

This was probably the realest struggle that I’ve ever been a part of while on a comfy and cozy Monday afternoon.

I finally gave in, deciding to purchase a charger. Store number one had nothing. I relocated to Best Buy. I found it something. All was well with the world! Quickly, I made my purchase and raced back to the car. My phone began to chug energy like an orchestrated college drinking game. The apple sign appeared. We were back in business!

“Well,” I paused. “I might as well check out the sales in Old Navy”…since I was near the store.

I entered the store that doubled as a ghost town. No one was shopping. Wondering if it was closed I questioned if someone forgot to lock the front door. As I walked around searching for any presence of life, I wondered if I would be the rescuer of the day. What if the staff was being held up in the back room or something? Could the workers seriously leave the front empty like that?

Pondering on, I found sweaters and flats that I liked. Of course, I had to try them on. I refused to take off the awful jeans that replaced my comfort clothing before embarking on my phone charger search. Luckily, I liked everything that I stumbled upon. One item especially stood out. It was a super cute cotton dress that hugged the curves just right. As soon as I put it on, I imagined wearing it once I finished T25. It would be super sassy, yet quite simple.

As I checked out every angle of the outfit, I noticed that the store music faded. That was the universal sign for “please leave our store, and leave it now”. I knew that I had to hurry up. Happily, I stepped from the dressing room, items in hand, and headed to the register.

I popped everything upon the counter, gave the sales clerk my discount code and smiled, because despite having to get out of the house again, I had found several cute things. And just as the sales clerk complimented me on the dress that I loved so much, a flash of the tag caught my eye.


Goodness Gracious!!! (long silent cry)

My total popped up on the screen. I swiped my card and entered my PIN. I didn’t even want to draft a story on why the non-preggo was buying the preggo dress. But since that horrific moment, I have come to the conclusion that preggo fashion is better than plus-sized fashion…in some instances. And, in future instances, I will be the finest non-preggo rocking this curvy preggo dress. At least I can toss it in the back of my closet for a futuristic day.

*long dramatic sigh*

In a perfect world, we’d all wear leggings.

K. Jones ♥

Where the Pants Aren't

Print credit: PosterSavvy


Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.