To Black Work Pants, Pair No. 2

Dear Pants,

I hate to write this sort of thing in a letter, but sometimes emotional things are better said from a distance.  I know you're wondering why, when I got home after work today, I put my shirt in one laundry basket and you in another.  Pants, I know it's hard to accept, but we can no longer be together.

The final straw for me was today's Kindergarten classes.  As I performed The Chicken Dance, I could feel you slipping away.  When I had to stop Head Shoulders Knees and Toes to hike you up to my braline, I knew it was over.  Seriously, seriously over.

I'm embarking on a new era in my life, one in which you no longer belong.  I will always appreciate the good times: your color that never faded, your sturdy fabric that still looks new, and your forgiving stretch that made you the sole pair of pants in my closet that always fit no matter what.  Times have changed, unfortunately, and we all must accept this.

I choose not to think about your ridiculous front pockets which spilled their contents whenever I sat down. I hope you'll remember the good times as well.

So, Pants, as we part ways, I hope you will be on to better things than I.  Perhaps someone who will love and cherish you, and not turn you into a handbag, as I am tempted to do.  I do hope you will keep in touch.  You are irreplaceable, at least until I lose two more sizes.

Best Wishes,

Deb