As most of you know I have an aversion to wearing pants. The phrase, “the no pants dance,” just tickles my grin. I have a growing day dream in my head. A mass magical wonderland of a pant less crowd, chanting, NO PANTS, NO PANTS, NO PANTS. I’m talking no less than three to four hundred beautiful bums set free to dance and giggle in the breeze. It’s not that I hate pants or don’t want them to exist, but it never fails that I rip the crotch at the most inappropriate time, and get tangled in their tuby grips. I’m a circus octopus and most of the time, I can’t confine my eight-ish limbs to two leg holes. Now, I’m not totally a hater….I see the beauty in the structural design of pants. Certain styles are architectural habitats for the bodacious bum. There has also been an occasion or two where these funny pants have protected my lower half from major injurious abrasion.
Still for day to day wear, I turn my head in the other direction looking for a alternative. My no pants revolution started one day stepping off the tour bus to go into town for some window shopping. It was a beautiful brisk morning with a limited time frame in which to explore. Ten minutes into the walk, feeling especially light and free I looked down to my energized limbs and realized I’d forgotten something that morning. Accidental happiness flooded my body, as at the same time feeling elation from a perfect mistake. Perfect imperfection lead me to blurt out to my tour manager, ” I forgot my pants, I don’t have pants on!” She seemed already privy to this information and concurred with my finding. I had pulled on a pair of tights that morning with the intention of adding a pant layer, but I guess that didn’t happen. Frankly one of the best mishaps of the decade.
For now, I was out in public, no where to hide, no where to run and unable to tuck my societal fears into pockets or folds of fabric. It felt INCREDIBLE!! No turning back we marched on! Let alone human rights, I felt as if my animal rights were waving there colorful freedom flags. A disco fever of emotional fulfilment swirled around my lower half. The scent of beautiful sin was water-falling off my free legs.
From that point on it became a meaningful talent to come up with outfits that didn’t incorporate pants. I dare say, this isn’t easy after a lifetime of trouser trappings. I always had a knack for wearing cloths in ways they were not made to wear,and now was the most important execution of this favorite craft. Put me in a scary movie, I don’t care! With no pants, I can outrun any fang-face monster . If they go to chomp down, there’s no excess fabric to catch or trip me.
Perhaps this aversion comes more from the idea that we must be covered as part of societies etiquette. Not only covered but covered in specific ways. Over the course of history, religious persecution has shunned people for not wearing the correct clothing, murders happen for wearing specific colors, and bully’s rage for not wearing the latest fashion trend. What started as a shield of protection for our bodies has become the cage. For me, pants have become the symbol of this cage. Overcoming any challenge takes time, sweat and tears, and if I’m going to be the squid in the tree, it’s going to take a lot of no wearing pants. Saying this, my intelligent hauntings remind me to mention that it also means coming to peace within myself, if and when I do wear pants. They are not my enemy, but a symbol of gutsy freedom.
Thank you to all who submitted two worded topics!! If you want to know which parts of this blog were submitted topics go to my twitter at contessacreate. There are twelve or thirteen topics mentioned here. I initially was going to pick one and write an entire entry, but using them like a madlib blog just seemed fun.
From SomewherE InsiDE SUNFILled PudDLe
p.s Spitting Food, will become it’s own blog subject soon!