Pants of enlightenment
Based on a true story*
In a cocoa stupor, I drifted into a restless and strange slumber, and there before my sight there floated my pants. They depended from a gossamer hanger, giving the impression that they were in fact levitating like some enlightened swami.
And I spoke unto my pants, "You no longer fit comfortably! Why have you forsaken me?"
And lo, my pants replied: "The answer is better found within yourself. For the change is not within myself, the ever-constant, but within you."
As I shifted uncomfortably, disturbed and cowed by the keen insight of my pants, they spoke again: "The answer is within you. Quite literally, you bloody glutton. In the form of chocolate and pizza and cookies!"
The pants now sounded angry, and I too grew angry. "What am I supposed to do, you stupid teeny pants, eat real food?"
"YES!" boomed the pants, and I quailed in terror and pleaded, "No, no this cannot be."
"But it is!" spake the pants, terrible in their conviction. "Vegetables you must seek! Fruits! Increased physical activity!"
I wailed and thrashed, and woke in a cold sweat. I looked at the pants where they lay folded in the chair. They now seemed harmless. But I knew the truth they held.
Therefore, I gave the pants away to Saint Vinnie's.
*True story runs thus: Szellem has pants that fit just fine one week. Suddenly, a week or so later, they are difficult to zip up. Szellem says, "Durr, mean pants. Sad. Me write story about mean pants."
Liberties taken include the donation of the offending pants to charity. They are in fact being worn with mild discomfort.
In a cocoa stupor, I drifted into a restless and strange slumber, and there before my sight there floated my pants. They depended from a gossamer hanger, giving the impression that they were in fact levitating like some enlightened swami.
And I spoke unto my pants, "You no longer fit comfortably! Why have you forsaken me?"
And lo, my pants replied: "The answer is better found within yourself. For the change is not within myself, the ever-constant, but within you."
As I shifted uncomfortably, disturbed and cowed by the keen insight of my pants, they spoke again: "The answer is within you. Quite literally, you bloody glutton. In the form of chocolate and pizza and cookies!"
The pants now sounded angry, and I too grew angry. "What am I supposed to do, you stupid teeny pants, eat real food?"
"YES!" boomed the pants, and I quailed in terror and pleaded, "No, no this cannot be."
"But it is!" spake the pants, terrible in their conviction. "Vegetables you must seek! Fruits! Increased physical activity!"
I wailed and thrashed, and woke in a cold sweat. I looked at the pants where they lay folded in the chair. They now seemed harmless. But I knew the truth they held.
Therefore, I gave the pants away to Saint Vinnie's.
*True story runs thus: Szellem has pants that fit just fine one week. Suddenly, a week or so later, they are difficult to zip up. Szellem says, "Durr, mean pants. Sad. Me write story about mean pants."
Liberties taken include the donation of the offending pants to charity. They are in fact being worn with mild discomfort.