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.
too many brown pants.
They were everywhere,
ten feet deep into my cupboard,
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,
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.
And that was it.
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.