How absolutely disgusting, shallow, materialistic and vain is it that a single pair of pants can make you (okay, me) feel absolutely terrific?
So disgusting that I went back and bought a 2nd pair for when I wear these babies into their grave.
They're is nothing particularly fancy pants about em.
They're black.
They're from a cool, young person's shop where I'm sure the perky, model / assistant nearly convulsed at what my stroller and I would be doing for their image.
They're 7/8 pants which means that I'm obviously 1/8 less of a woman than the model they were intended for 'cause they hit my feet just sweetly.
They're, therefore, the only pants I haven't had to take up or ruin with that iron on hemming tape and they can keep their cuff.
They're a size larger than the newborn, model cum retail assistant recommended, but hey she's not the mama pushing this stroller.
When I put these pants on, I could swear I lose a couple of years, a couple of centimetres off each hip and the chip off my shoulder Magoo planted there during playgroup / tantrum town this morning.
And they didn't cost the million bucks they make me feel (even when x by 2).
Happy pants, indeed.
Shar :-)
