Leather Pants

So, one time, I was in a fancy department store trying on fitted leather pants. It's back when low rise waistbands were in, and we were all Britney Spearsing our wardrobes. I have to preface this by saying they had no pockets and were zipper-on the-side-almost leggings.

The pants looked great...standing up. But, as you ladies, and gents who have a clue know, you have to test the low rise pants before you make the commitment. Because, at some point, you are going to have to sit down in them...out to dinner, or on a barstool, and when you do, it goes like this (please imagine this in slow motion). You walk to your chair, your knees bend as you sit, the leather--stuck to your lotioned legs, because you had no time to baby-powder them, grips your kneecaps, pulling the back of your fashionable waistband down, exposing your ass-crack for all the world to see--a clear invitation for onlookers to toss popcorn into the cavern. BUT this is not my point!

Back to the dressing room. I'm admiring the fit, KNOWING I need to test the pants. So, ever so quickly, I squat in the dressing room...after all, no one is watching. I squat, and they POP! The pants, stuck to my kneecaps, somehow filled with air (probably through you-know-where) and POPPED...like a really loud leather balloon! I froze, waiting for someone to ask me if I was OK, waiting for the saleslady to enter the dressing room with the credit card machine in hand, waiting for some kind of leather-pant-popping-defacement-alarm to go off.

Thank God, no one heard nor entered. It took what seemed like forever to peel off those god-forsaken pants, that were now literally burst at the crotch. I did not put them back on the hanger, I did not alert the store employees (I mean, how could I?) I just threw on my head scarf and huge sunglasses and beelined out of there, hoping no one heard or saw anything.