I don’t have any pants. I wonder whether I will ever again have pants, or if I will have to go through life without fitted coverings for my legs and lower torso. I can see you are curious as to the details of my plight, so I shall tell you the full story.
It was an otherwise uneventful day. I had just sat down and started in on a leisurely evening of ironing frogs when I heard a sudden commotion coming from the bedroom. I rushed to investigate, and discovered that my dresser was rocking madly back and forth as though it were being shaken from within.
And then suddenly a drawer shot out and landed with a crash at the foot of the dresser. It was my pants drawer. The dresser itself fell still immediately. Also immediately, all of my pants leapt from the drawer and began walking about the room as though they were clothing invisible people.
To be quite frank, I had no idea how to proceed. It’s not every day your trousers become animated and start rummaging around in your bedroom. Tentatively, I cleared my throat. Almost as one, the pants turned to face me. It may have only been my imagination, but the temperature of the room seemed to drop a few degrees as my pants regarded me coldly.
Then, as if by some hidden signal, they fell upon me. The fury of their attack knocked me to the floor, and I was rendered unconscious soon after.
I awoke in a hospital. I was to spend the next seven days there; such were the extent of my injuries. I inquired after my attackers, but as you can imagine, I didn’t make a lot of headway. Everyone assumed it was my beating that had befuddled me into thinking that I had been attacked by my pants. I began to doubt it myself. That is, until I got home to a ransacked house and an empty pants drawer.
What can one do when one’s pants go bad? I went to the mall and bought replacement pants, optimistic that this time it would be different.
Unfortunately, I was wrong. After a few weeks, a similar uprising took place. This time, I was in the hospital for twelve days.
Since my recovery, I’ve been dressing in traditional Scottish garb. The kilts are comfy and on some days I don’t even miss my wayward trousers. I do get some stares, but I’ll take that over getting kicked nearly to death by turncoat pants.
Perhaps someday I will muster the courage to buy a pair of pants and see how it goes. Until then, I must face life with the knowledge that I don’t, and can perhaps never, have any pants.