It’s starting to get chilly here in Richmond, Virginia. Those cold winter mornings are coming. I love everything about commuting to work on foot, I really do, but if I had to pick something I like least– it would be leaving my warm house on sub-freezing mornings. So in preparation for those winter walks, I went shopping for pants last weekend.
Dress pants aren’t my favorite. I’m much more a skirts/dresses, tights and boots kind of gal. But have you ever walked outside when it’s below 30 degrees in tights and a cotton dress? You might as well be naked. So on those mornings you need the pants. I got excited because there were so many pretty pants this year. Navy pin stripes, flecked gray wool, pretty blue-green colored, even polka dots. This was it! This was the year I was going to fall in love with pants! Pants! Warm and wonderful pants!
None of them fit. Which is generally my problem with pants.
None? You ask. Nope. Not a one. If they fit in the waist they were tight in the hip. If they fit in the hip, they gaped in the waist. If they fit in both those places, there was a weird top of thigh pleats that made no sense (I’m looking at you oh-so-warm gray wool pair). And yes, I know I could have them altered to fit, but I honestly just didn’t like any of them enough to put in that effort.
I was relaying this story to friends at work (who both got horrified looks on their faces when I indicated I spent my Sunday afternoon shopping for pants, so it’s not just me), and one colleague brought up a pair of pants I already own that she likes. “Oh those! I love those. I found them in the sale room at my favorite store. I wasn’t even looking for pants.”
And then it hit me. The old cliché adage about love apparently applies to dress pants– you’ll only find them when you aren’t looking for them at all. So I’m off to buy those cozy leggings.
Note to readers: There is a lot of sadness in the world right now and there are so many heavy, worthwhile, important things to reflect on. I realize that in the midst of this that I’ve written a post about the luxury of being ultra-picky about what pants I wear. Sometimes we just need a little laugh about an everyday sort of thing. My friend, Leah, blogged about the hard stuff— you should read that, too.