One of them was forged in the fires of Mount Doom

Phil S. deBehst

 

So,

when my last pair of khaki pants ripped

I realized that they were my last pair of khakis.

Also then I realized that I had way too many brown pants.

Just...

too many brown pants.

They were everywhere,

ten feet deep into my cupboard,

dresser

cupboard,

dresser,

the wooden thing that you put clothes in

and it slides in and out,

well, it was full of brown pants.

How did this happen?

Where did they come from?

There were my dancing pants.

Everyone that sees me in my dancing pants says,

"Hey, I really like your pants."

and I reply

"Thank you, they are my dancing pants.

They make me want to dance."

Which is a true story.

Then there were my backup dancing pants,

which aren't as cool.

But they're there,

just in case,

y'know.

Then,

there were regular brown pants,

which I couldn't remember

ever wearing or buying, but existed

despite the will of the gods.

Perhaps they had been born

of the copulations of the other pants,

in some sacrosanct orgy in the depths

of my wardrobe.

Maybe.

Maybe.

And that was it.

Three pants,

which would not seem that much

but upon the destruction of my khakis

they had become 75% of my leg attire,

the other 25% being a pair of steel greys

that were also good for dancing

and for looking like I know more about music than you.

Upon the discovery

of my light toned pant deficiency

I formed a steely resolve

within the depths

of my gut.

I bought another pair of khakis.

They didn't fit me for some reason.

Euphemism Campus Box 5555 Illinois State University Normal, IL 61790