Going Both Ways

I was mulling over the phenomenon of taking myself too seriously when I stumbled upon my pair of bike-riding pants.  Normally I wear shorts but if it's too chilly in the morning I put on a pair of tight-fitting longer pants.  They can't be too loose or they'll catch in the bike gearing but they can't be too tight or they'll make everyone who sees me in them freak out.  You might think, at this point, that the point is I no longer care how ridiculous I look in these spandex pants.  But wait . . . there's more.

I bought these pants out of the bargain bin at a local sporting goods store.  I was pretty pleased with myself - I got a great deal on something I needed, unlike most of the crap that I buy for reasons that are obscure to even me.  The next morning I rode my bike and was pretty pleased with the pants.  Pretty pleased.  Good performance, stayed out of the gearing, no one laughed openly at my appearance.  I got home and tossed them into the laundry basket.  Somehow they get clean if I do this.  I don't ask why this happen.

SuperK walked into the room holding the now clean pants.

"You know these are women's pants, right?" she asked.

"They're what now?" I said.

She showed me the tag without comment.  Women's pants.

You know I don't really care.  In fact, I tell people I have on women's pants.

This is why I'm careful to avoid the women's section at department stores.  I'm just a little too tempted to try on some panty hose and a slinky cocktail dress.