I Hate Pants

It’s officially fall in four days: A major holiday in the land of white girls.

I could not be more excited. I’m really sick of the sweat dripping down my back every time I walk outside for more than five minutes, especially when there’s no ocean I can frolic into like the beach baby that I dream of being.

We(I’m talking to all you fall-loving girls) know why fall is by far the best season out of the year.

Can you say lattes?

Just kidding. I can’t even drink coffee.

But, when it starts to get a little chilly, it’s time to start eating those mashed potatoes and building up a layer of warmth. Layers, ladies, layers.

That little extra pudge of love that falls out of your swimsuit?

Well, it’s fall, so nobody is allowed to give a shit.

Put on your sweater proudly and work those leggings, girl. You’re killin’ it in those boots.

But, it’s not all colorful leaves and cuddling by campfires.

I don’t have any beef with fall specifically, since I’m not genetically allowed to…

But, I do have an issue with pants.

I fucking hate pants.

…Unless they start with yoga-, or sweat-, or pajama-.

Dress Pants: Absolute NO.

Jeans: Dependent, though finding a good pair of jeans is a nightmare.

In my personal experience, the stretchier the better…contemplating checking out the maternity section this year.

…Or the kind that are so high waisted, they almost touch your boobs. Find a pair that is both stretchy and high wasted, and you, my friend, have hit the jackpot.

Look, I know why pants are necessary. Nobody wants to see my overgrown leg hair for four months. Plus, I’m too single for that.

But, it doesn’t change the fact that I hate them. They’re so restricting.

They have buttons and zippers; an uncomfortable necessity that I will never understand.

I really do love fall. I love wearing sweatshirts and boots and the crispness in the air is basically magic.

But I hate pants.

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