These highwaters are totally harshing my mellow
These highwaters are totally harshing my mellow. It's weird that pants can hold so much sway over your mood. All day long, I'm going to be tugging them down so they don't look ridiculous and then, feeling like a '90s teenager with sagging schoolboy pants, hiking them back up again. Over an over.
I'm probably the only one who even notices but I'm afraid I look like somebody who was raised by an igmo and an eejit, which is totally unfair because I was in fact raised by intelligent, educated people with excellent fashion sense. Heck, my dad was so fashionable people probably would have wondered if he was gay if he hadn't been born back before homosexuality was invented.
So why am I wearing highwaters? Other than the highwater problem, I love everything about these pants. They're softy-soft, like hippie jammies but totally cut for the workplace. They're deep brown, with a teeney black check pattern that you don't really notice at first, but that slowly comes into the picture. Both the color and pattern probably have a name, but if I knew them I wouldn't be wearing highwaters, now would I?
So, here I sit, looking like someone who should go stand on the corner with that woman wearing the giant, yellow mumu with Tasmanian Devil on the front. That's it. These bastards are totally going in the Goodwill pile when I get home.