Now, I know what you're thinking. "Leather pants? Really? How can this even be considered a problem? No one actually wears leather pants."
But, back in the day, you cannot imagine how much I loved these pants. I was young (read: foolish). I barely weighed anything (that's a small budget and the energy to go out every night for you). I was even blond. It was one of the few times in my life my self-esteem was over-inflated.
I thought these pants were hot, and I had to have them.
(And, "hot" they were. One of the truest things ever put on television was a certain episode of Friends in which Ross finds himself trapped in the bathroom of a date's apartment because he can't get back into the leather pants he took off because they made him sweat. Leather pants are not something you can try on, change your mind and take off for another outfit. If you want to wear leather pants, you've got to commit. Because once you're in them, you're in them. For better or worse. (I've never thought of leather pants as a metaphor for marriage before, but now that I'm there, I kind of like it.))
These pants were also expensive. To this day, they are the one and only item I've ever bought from Neiman Marcus. I think they were originally priced at $350, but I got them on sale for something like $170. (Again, paying that much for these pants is another indication that I was young and had no real concept of money.) I only found them on sale because they're a size 8, which is like a size 2 in skintight designer leather. They're made by Laundry for goodness' sake.
The one time I can recall going out in these, my roommates and I were having some kind of theme party. I had my blond hair fluffed up, the leather pants on and wore a t-shirt that said "Hottie" in silver glitter. For real.
Oh, the shame.
Yet, despite the unpleasant memories these pants give rise to, and the fact that I know I couldn't even get these over one ankle these days, when I pulled up to the Goodwill store yesterday, I just couldn't bear the thought of them sitting on a rack next to all the normal (read: mundane/no history) pants.
There's Ebay, but this guy already did that, and his write-up was far more fabulous than mine could ever be.
I could take them to a consignment store, but they're hardly a summer item. (A fact I ignored completely the one time I wore these. It was July. Again, the shame is strong.)
I could try to schlep them off on some unfortunate reader of this blog, but I'm pretty sure that after I admitted to wearing the pants in the heat of summer, no one's interested.
What becomes of a once-loved pair of leather pants never to be worn again? Is a second-life as a wallet all they can really hope for?
If Cassidy doesn't want to go as a dog biker for next Halloween, it might finally be time for me to let these pants go.
