My good friend from the Internet, Jean Day Friday, professes to love Fridays, the casualness of wearing jeans and such. (She might not update her blog much, but man alive, when she does, it’s always hilarious.) (Also, confusingly, there is an email in my inbox from my good friend from the Internet Harper Faulkner, who professes admiration for Jean, insofar as parties without her go.)
I digress. Where I work, there is no Jean Day Friday. There is no Denim Thursday or Polo Shirt Wednesday.
And yet, I still cling with feverish hope that I will be comfortable at work.
I found these black pants. They are the best.
They are comfortable and I *think* they pass for professional leg wear.
Where did I find such pants? Thank you for asking. I found them in a box that was mailed to me when I was pregnant with my second child.
They were from my cousin Jazzhands (who never updates her blog, which is very sad. what is the opposite of jazzhands? honky-tonk hands?). They were her maternity pants, and I never gave them back.
I have no shame.
I have very little shame.
I have some shame.
My life is nothing but shame.
But I’m keeping the pants.
Monday is, without a doubt, my least favorite day of the week. Getting up early, seeing if it’s still winter outside, sitting in an 84-degree office. After two days off, it’s a real drag to get going again.
That is why Monday gets its own pants: Monday pants.
Where are my Monday pants? Are my Monday pants in the wash? I’m going to have to call in sick if I can’t find my Monday pants! *devolves into crazed gibberish*
Monday pants make Mondays entirely bearable.
You know what? I also have some Tuesday pants. They are pretty fantastic as well.