i don't wanna wear pants

When I was a kid, my mom consistently fought with me over two pieces of clothing.  Turtlenecks and dresses.  Eventually, she gave up both fights.

Flash forward thirty odd years.

I've been back at work now for a whole nine days, and I've determined that I'm over pants.  I'm sure they have their place and that I'll love them again someday.  But even my good 'ol worn-in jeans are just not doing it for me right now, it doesn't even seem to matter how high the heels or how cute the shirt.  The world just seems better in a skirt.

Currently these are the reasons why I hate pants:

Wearing pants means going back to work.

Going to work means that my leisurely mornings and morning runs have been deduced to being haphazardly fit in.

It's so hard to feel fun and flirty in a pair of pants.  At least it is for me currently.

Driving my car is not nearly as much fun in pants.  I don't know why, I know this is an odd one, but there's something powerful about wearing a cutie sun dress while driving a muscle car with windows down, hair up, and the music loud.   I'm also aware that this makes me a boarder-line train-wreck.  I'm not at all bothered by this.  possibly proud.  

It is still hot outside and I really do sweat more in those things.  eew.

I'm pretty sure that I am not as sweet or patient in pants.  This is a big deal.  I need all the help that I can get.

My mom thinks this is hilarious, by the way.  I'm glad she does.  Really.  Really, I am.  As I drive my car to work in the morning, constricted at the waist, all business like (I know that's what I'm supposed to look like, ugh, I know) and ish.  She's laughing.  

Tomorrow, I'm going to Macy's.  Toodles.