Scandalous Pants

In my sophomore year, a strange phenomenon suddenly appeared. I glanced down at my jeans during class one day and discovered that I had rubbed down the denim on the inner thigh of my right leg by walking so that a hole had formed. Within days, a similar hole had appeared on the left leg. Given that the inner thighs of my pants are not normally exposed to the public, I continued to wear the pants. Unfortunately, the holes expanded until the edges of them were visible from the back. I was forced to cut the pants and make them into a skirt.

The phenomenon suddenly began appearing in all the pairs of jeans I owned. In my junior year, it happened with my newest favorite pair of jeans. Not willing to go the skirt route and not wishing to throw out the pants, I decided that I would just wear them around. I call them The Scandalous Pants. I tried to patch them with t-shirt material, but I didn't do a good enough job sewing them, and so I resigned myself to the fact that my jeans would just be scandalous pants. The girls in my dorm would gasp whenever they caught sight of them. "Meredith, are you seriously wearing those?" There is a half gleeful, half horrified feeling about The Scandalous Pants among my peers.

The strangest thing about The Scandalous Pants is that once people see them, they tell me that their jeans begin doing the same thing. It has never happened to them before, but it seems to be the pants equivalent of yawning. As soon as one person yawns, you feel compelled to yawn, the power of suggestion being too strong. And when pants feel the tremendous power of The scandalous Pants, they too rip along the inner thigh. By now, The Scandalous Pants are almost infamous.

Perhaps I am not appropriately modest, but I don't know if I can get around that. I don't have qualms about many things that I, as a girl, should have qualms about. There is something liberating about feeling a little risque and waltzing around with pants that would definitely never get out of the front door if I lived at home. It's not that I can't afford new pants or want to be a ho, it's just that I believe you should wear pants until they rot off your body. That's when they get just to the right level of comfort, right before they dissolve. I like comfort and scandal.

If I were a superhero (aside from Pedestrian Girl), my outfit of choice would be The Scandalous Pants and a pseudo-clever t-shirt that says something like "Drink Apple Juice. O.J. will kill you," with a picture of O.J. Simpson on it.