Wednesday, June 14, 2006

The Importance of Inspecting Garments Before Purchasing

Dear Woman Who Ripped My Pants,

I will begin this letter by asking you one simple question, of which I realize will get no reply, because after all, you have no idea who I am. But that’s beside the point. I am humoring myself, as I often do, and am so filled with rage, this seems a much more appropriate way to vent my frustration and disgust than, say, punching my husband’s forehead.(which, by the way, did help heal my spider bites…I highly recommend to attached women everywhere that they strike their significant others in the forehead -- repeatedly if need be -- when in dire need of a physical or mental pick-me-up).

Ah, beautiful digression. How I love to digress. I may even digress from the original digression, just for the fun of it. Watch as I digress effortlessly, feel the burn, the confusion and giddy tummy tickles as I spin you round and round on the fiery Ferris wheel of digressional pyrotechnics.

I enjoy breakfast sausages!

All right, then. My unanswerable question is this: Why, if you have a size twenty- four ass, would you even think of stuffing it into a pair of size sevens?

Honestly, I’m curious.

There I was, all excited -- almost hysterical, really -- to be returning the dreadful Ass Pants From Hell, to be browsing in a real clothing store that does not sell knitted vests, appliquéd sweaters or polyester stretch pants, a store that has not a single smiley face sign advertising falling prices or zombified old man shambling toward me when I walk in the door. Yes, there I was, thrilled to be rid of the Ass Pants, feeling good that I made the sales clerk laugh when I explained to her why I was returning the Ass Pants, my palms sweaty as I perused the acres of filmy peasant tops and sweet little skirts, the fabrics of cotton and silk and other fibers made by God, when I saw my dream pants.

They were magnificent. Lightweight denim capris, form-fitting at the hips (not pubic-area low, thank you very much), with big swingy legs that I just knew would swish about my calves in a most flirtatious manner. They would look perfect with the cute black, swingy, three-tiered, ruffled tank top I'd just purchased, as well as my fabulous new gem-encrusted Baby Phat thong wedges. I was thinking how goshdurned hot I was going to look at the party this coming Saturday.

I had to have those pants, was so nervous they wouldn't have my size, I nearly suffocated from dry-mouth. I tentatively poked through the rack, peered at the tags, my breathing becoming more labored with every wrong size, when lo and behold, there was one last size seven stuffed between the ones and twelves and fours. Halle-freaking-lujah. Trumpets announced the coming of Christ, rainbows appeared above me, and I think I actually had an orgasm, although it's quite possible it was only incontinence. Anyway, I bought the pants. Brought them home. Stood before the mirror and slipped into them, made sweet love them as I twirled while fastening the outside button, admired the flirty swish against my calves, and then...

You know where I’m going with this, don’t you, bitch? Sure you do. You know perfectly well what I’m about to write next, because it was your ass that destroyed my dream. It was your delusional ego that caused the pants to fall apart, your skeevy, rotten, dishonest own self that popped the inside button from its root, pulled the lower part of the zipper from its bed, snatched the belt loop from the waistband as you attempted to stuff your junk into what should have been my trunk, then, upon realizing what you did, whipped off the pants, rebuttoned the outside button, zipped what was left of the zipper, patted down the hanging belt loop, and hung the pants back on the rack like the criminal scurvy-ridden cur you are.

And now you must die.

Hatefully yours,

Ms. Lori

17 Comments:

At 12:08 PM, Blogger Redneck Nerdboy! said...

"...punching my husband’s forehead..."

[laughing my butt right off. God dangit you're frickin' funny!]

It's nice to be cyber-attracted to you, for one we're not married and you can't strike me on the forehead! Haha! Two, because I get to enjoy most of your good qualities and humor and not the PMS!

This is a nice relationship right here.

 
At 1:04 PM, Blogger Justice said...

Oooooooh, what E-V-I-L!!!!!

By the way, "I think I actually had an orgasm, although it's quite possible it was only incontinence." That hurt me.

 
At 5:11 PM, Blogger Editor at Large said...

Wow, Ms. Lori...TWO bad-pants episodes in two weeks! Perchance 'tis thy destiny to go pantless. Lucky Lar! (Despite the dents in his forehead.)

 
At 8:32 PM, Blogger leenie71689 said...

HA! You crack me up!! I dont even know where to begin with on this one...just so funny. And I am terribly sorry for your disappointment...but think of it this way...that poor fatass fell in love with those pants too and had the even worse misfortune of being too fat to wear them! Love you! Wish we could go shopping together!...in South Beach or Vegas(althogh I dont think my husband's wallet can handle it!)XXOO-E

 
At 11:47 PM, Blogger Granny said...

I'm sitting here laughing and every time I think I'm over it all I can think about is the image of that woman and those pants.

 
At 6:24 AM, Blogger RobinSlick said...

Oh god...it's too early to be laughing like this when I merely stopped by to gloat to you that Neil Gaiman has been e-mailing me all week because he's worried about me. Ha! (See my blog for further details and no, this isn't a blog pimp, it's so you can swoon for real over the photo he sent me of himself...)

Ha ha - but the whole ass pants thing...truly hilarious. You really should have a column somewhere, Lori.

 
At 6:34 AM, Blogger Alice said...

Oh dear.

So they're unfixable? Is there a possibility of getting another pair just like it?

Poor Lori. Not having much luck, are you?

:-(

Got to admit that my ample ass has tried to fit into clothes too small before, but in my defence I only try on sizes that are SUPPOSED to fit me, and simply don't because clothes manufactures are both tight fisted and model all their wares on stick people the size and shape of Kate Moss rather than real women who actually eat every now and again and don't have a supposed raging drug problem to keep their weight down.

...Not that I'm bitter about how skinny and rich Kate Moss is.

Nope.

Not at all.

Just saying.

Yup...

 
At 2:44 AM, Blogger Cassandra said...

dude, that sucks.

 
At 10:00 AM, Blogger Ms. Lori said...

Oh, but I *can* strike your forehead, angel boy.

THWAP!!!!

Was it good for you, too? ;-)

Justice, my incontinence remark also hurt my husband, albeit in a different way, so because I'm evil, I just threatened him with my open palm until he stopped with the crying.

Editor, I've only purchased three pairs of pants in the last year and a half, so my bad luck is especially heartbreaking.

Great. Now I feel the need to slap again.

LAR?! Lar, get the hell over here, NOW!

Leenie, I would love nothing more than to go shopping with you. How about NYC? Cocktails beforehand, of course.

Ann, the poor woman's ears must be on fire. Or her ass. ;-)

Robin, I have only one thing to say to you......................

DORK!

Alice, Moss may be skinny and rich, but her nose looks like it melted and slid to the side of her face.

Cassandra, it sucketh indeed.

 
At 11:30 AM, Anonymous Anne said...

Mongrel dogs, maybe?
Speaking as the owner of a good bit of junk, myself, let us all be aware that MOST of us don't even TRY fitting our too-ample frames into the jeans of your basic size 7...UtterUtterBitchICan'tHateYouEnoughWhenYouCanWear DesignerShitThatICanOnlyDreamOf...sorry, bit of Tourettes, there. Most of us have more dignity, self-control and we don't tend to delusional. We are broken by the system. Mayhap your jeans met the ass of the newly-unfit? One who hadn't come to terms with the sheer amount of dreck passed off as "clothing" that we "plus sized ladies" are forced to wear on a daily basis?
...just a thought.

 
At 12:45 PM, Blogger Ms. Lori said...

Anne, I'm not a skinny Minnie myself (and I'm not the tallest human being, either). My weight has run the gamut -- I gained an average of 80 pounds with each of my four pregnancies, and I never once felt anything less than sexy, no matter what the scale said. In fact, I don't even look at the scale anymore, and I've encouraged my daughters to do the same. I stress the importance of FEELING good, and always point out to them that the women they see on TV and in magazines are merely fantasies perfected by plastic surgeons, beautiful lighting, airbrushing, and diet pills (or cocaine).

Society has made women feel badly about themselves for having a NORMAL body, a WOMAN'S body, which is sickening (not to mention weird), and I'll be damned if I allow my girls to fall into that pit of shit.

That said, I still believe the pants-ripping banshee, whether she's a seven or a twenty-four, should rot in hell for all eternity.

 
At 8:19 AM, Blogger Alena said...

I just can't understand why someone that could blow out a pair of size 7 pants would even try them on in the first place! Was she dared? Delusional? On drugs?

And, like, if there is that much of a size difference between the pants and the person, can't you tell that right away when you start to put the pants on? I sometimes don't even bother trying to get them all the way up if I can tell they're not going to fit.

People are freaks.

 
At 8:56 AM, Blogger Ms. Lori said...

Alena, I know! Last night, when I returned the pants, I went through six different brands of pants before I found a pair that fit properly. Some gapped at the waist, others I could barely pull up over my hips! If they were obviously going to be too snug, I whipped 'em right off without even trying to zip. I'm no criminal cur. ;-)

But I found a beautiful pair of capris that make my buttocks leap to the heavens, so I'm happy.

 
At 11:45 PM, Anonymous Jeni said...

I feel for ya, Lori, finding size seven anymore is becoming increasinly more difficult. Making matters worse is that a size seven in one store is a size 5 or evem a 9 in another store. Perhaps that was what threw the woman off which caused her to bust out the seams in your dream pants?
I have discovered one thing, the more expensive the brand, the smaller size one takes. I like Tommy jeans because at my age I get a kick out of wearing a pair of jeans that say size 5. Wearing a pair of jeans bought from WallyWorld is depressing because they insist I'm a size 9.
Go figure...

 
At 7:16 AM, Anonymous aphid said...

Pants suck, but at least you feel sexy. Can't imagine how good that must feel.

And Kate Moss is ugly as fuck.

http://chimpymonkey.awfulimages.com/files/86/86f4d3136dcf918404b77cb4a5becfe72110b1bf.jpe

Noooooooooooooooooooooooooo . . .

 
At 11:43 AM, Blogger Professor said...

ohmygod- I hate women like that! So sorry about the loss of pants- goddess, two in one day...

 
At 12:04 PM, Blogger Ms. Lori said...

Jeni, what the heck is Wally World? Sounds hideous! ;-)

Aphid, pants are good, it's the buying of pants that sucks mightily.

Professor, I thank you for your sympathy. The goddess did not smile on me that day, but she did compensate for the misery in other ways -- GREAT SHOES! ;-)

 

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