Hello, my name is Thelazycreative, and I am wearing crap pants.
Not every day, but most.
My pants are crap for many sad reasons, not all their own fault. Like they went through the wrong wash, or they went through the right wash but they still went a funny sort of purpley-grey, or the tumble dryer ate a bit of them, or they are too tight, too loose, too cheap, or are too fancy for work. Perhaps the print on them which you thought was a little quirky and fun in the shop now make your nether regions feel sad, because your 38-year-old bottom no longer has the perk of your 18-year-old self..
Whatever the reason, my drawers are filled with bad drawers.
I only noticed the other day, and the sorry, cottony, sight depressed me no end. For how long have I been letting myself go? Why do I choose the food hall over the lingerie department? Should the suggestion from my husband that I might be having an affair, just because my undies accidentally matched one day have been a warning? I have seriously pondered the reasons for my nylon nightmare, but its all going to be ok. It’s not my fault. It’s the global economy.
Apparently it is a proper thing. Economists know that the end of recession is coming because we start buying pants again. And I thought economics was hard? During times of hardship it is common to try to get a few extra hundred miles from the stuff that the most amount of people will see the least, apparently, and your poor pants are the first to go.
There is just one problem in this type of economising. Someone DOES see your pants every day. You.
Whether you are married or single, missionary or missionary position, if your pants are grey, your day will be too. It’s all very well counting the pennies. These are difficult times. And then there is Christmas to pay for, as if this time of year comes as a shock expense, but come on people, I bet even Martin Lewis has some nice pants.
I was asked for my Christmas list the other week, and all I could think of was a new frying pan. At the pub a sexy, glamorous friend and I discussed what untold joy would abound if Santa brought us one of those fancy Dyson Hoovers that are tiny, but can basically clean your house while you just stand in one place. Where have all the fun times gone? Did we leave them behind once we started stepping over the thresholds of garden centres for coffee dates? I mean, a frying pan….jeez.
So I have a massive recession recovery plan. Lets all ask Santa for pants!
The economists would report the rise in sales, hailing the end of the dark days. The BBC would be thrilled to report on something a little more lighthearted than paedophilia, or themselves. More importantly however, it would signal and end to sad bottoms all over the country.
So while you hide your VISA bill and get a bit teary at the latest John Lewis emotional blackmail, get rid of the grey and shake your bootys one and all this recessiony festive season…. because you’re worth it!