Mysterygunk.

I don’t like buying pants. It’s not because I don’t like pants, or that I don’t think it’s worth spending the money on, or that I dislike shopping. It’s the disappointment that wounds me every time.

When I go looking for pants, I want them to fit properly, which means that I have to try them on, test them out, and ask a friend if it makes my butt look more abnormally small than it already is (seriously, it may as well be concave). The problem is that the tiny little changerooms that stores give you are barely even large enough to turn around in. If you have enough space to take a full stride to see how stretchy your pants are or how much it crawls up your hips when you take a step, then you’re one lucky bugger cause I don’t think I’ve ever found a room like that. The other option is to just step outside of your room, into that hallway that connects all the rooms, and stare at yourself in the oversized mirror that’s inevitably present in all dressing rooms. But this means allowing everyone to see your pant-buying-ritual, it’s exposing… it makes me feel naked.

Fortunately for me a friend was looking to buy a dress shirt a couple of months ago so I tagged along, since shopping for someone else is the best time to shop for yourself; you can just sneak off and do your own thing and no one will notice because they’re too busy trying to find the right size shirt for Joe, or 3 inch, not 2 inch heels for Molly. During this time, I managed to come across a pair of pants that looked decent, and so I split away from the group and tried them on. They were SPLENDID. Black pants that are half jeans, half dressy, and extremely soft and comfortable. Not to mention, they were size 29, which absolutely no one sells, but for some odd reason I managed to find. Of course I promptly bought them and snuck my way back into the shopping group to find a “Salmon, not pink” shirt.

Since that day, these pants have been my absolute favourite. When I wash them, they’re my only article of clothing that I actually take care of and read the washing instructions for. But to my horror, about a week ago, I stuck my hands into my right bum pocket only to be greeted by a patch of sticky white gunk lodged into the corner seam. I have absolutely NO idea what it is, or how and when it got there.

First reaction: “What the…”

Second: “How did that…”

Third: “HELL NO”

Do not make decisions when you are angry, frustrated, or upset, it is a well known fact that you will make the wrong decision 57 out of 59 times. Try it, it’s true. And those aren’t very great odds. What do you do when you have a clothes that are dirty? Throw them into the washer obviously. What do you do when you have a pair of pants that just came out of the washer? Hit up the dryer, no doubt. What I received from the dryer was my favourite pair of pants with no white gunk in the bum pocket. The white gunk was gone, and in its place was a plate of dark grey CONCRETE. If I had any hopes of getting it off, I completely missed the bus because this stuff is going to stay forever. My favourite pants and I managed to ruin them badly enough that it will forever look like I sat on an extrea steamy bird crap.

I know it’s a nearly impossible favour to ask of any of you since this is just something that everyone has to do as soon as they see me but… try hard not to look at my bum over the next couple of months.