This sort of takes the cake for dumbest post ever, but I finally found a pair of silk pajama pants that are meant to be fashionable. Silk only describes the material — actually, I think they might be eco-polyester, whatever the fuck that means.
Let me tell you the story of these particular trousers.
I’ve been wanting a pair of silk trousers that make me look like Beyonce posing on a tractor trailer for many months now. (You feel me, people who follow her on Tumblr?) But I ever time I tried them on, they either made me look like a sack full of moldy potatoes, or my dad about to retire in his Merona flannel pajama pants for the night.
When I was younger, my father said to me, “When you were born, I was terrified that you’d be missing a breast like me.” Because my father is missing his left breast muscle, and apparently it’s genetic. Fortunately for me, I have the muscle, but no fucking fat above it, and moreover, I also inherited my dad’s thick, short, built like a workhouse legs, and elongated torso. Elegant pants, in other words, do not suit me — these legs were made not for walking, but for standing in a fucking bog pit in wool underwear, pulling at my teeth, and whining about how my back hurts from being pregnant for the 14th time.
In other words, pants have to be made for a stout, alcoholic, flowery-mouthed, fighting breed to fit me. Which very rarely happens.
The other day, I especially mourned this fact when I saw a girl in Williamsburg walking down the street. She was wearing this amazing tropical silk lounge pants, ballet flats, and a leather jacket. “I love those pants,” I told Caleb. “But they would make me look like I was sitting backwards on the shoulders of a dwarf carrying two cantaloupes.”
“I thought I taped your mouth shut,” Caleb said.
Then, today, I walked into H&M to kill some time before lunch, and ran smack dab into a rack of aforementioned pants. They called to me. “Try me on,” they said. “Try me on in four or five different sizes, all of them larger than normal.”
So I went to the dressing room with my arms full, and tried on, without realizing it, the smallest pair. They might not fit me perfectly, but they’d fit me well enough that I could definitely rock them with a pair of heels and a tight-fitting shirt and a mask over my face just in case someone recognized me.
If you’re like me, and you’re missing not only both breasts, but also a willowy build, but still, emulate everything Solange wears, you might want to check them out. Buy them, and you can come over to my house, and we can do our make-up, and then go see how quickly it would take for us to get arrested posing on the hoods of the police station down the street from my apartment. I want to put them on my blog, “ExactlyLikeBaddieBeyIfYouDrink10BeersAndSquintYourEyes.tumblr.com.”
