Dear Elli,
Do not buy white pants. It's not a smart investment. Trust me. I did it.
For most of my life I have avoided white pants. They just weren't me. I'm really more of a black pants or tan pants kind of gal. Until this summer.
You see, when I turned 30 I developed a mental complex. I am now in my second year of this weird new complex. Something snapped in my brain. All of the sudden I decided to try to look sort of cute. Because I've only got another decade or so to rock it before the wheels fall off. So I bought a pair of white pants.
Big mistake.
White pants do one thing. They attract stuff. All kinds of stuff. I am looking at my white pants right now, and I see at least four spots on them which I cannot identify. I've worn them twice. And I am an adult.
What is this stuff? Marks from my pen? Dirt? Food? I'm starting to get yet another complex. Apparently I am a complete pig and never realized it. You can't take me anywhere. In fact, I should probably stay home for the remainder of my days writing blog posts in pajama pants and a T-shirt. Neither of which should be white.
See what happened there? I freaked out a little. That should clearly be an indication that white pants suck. And you should never buy them. Ever.
So even if I only have approximately 8.5 years left before the remainder of my youthfulness pisses itself right out the window, I will not spend those years in white pants. I will spend them in black or tan pants instead. And I will do so without fear of looking like a complete pig with unidentifiable stuff all over my legs and ass.
But I will probably continue wearing cute shoes that necessitate the strategic placement of several bandaids to avoid bloodshed. And we will save that story for a different day.
I love you.
Mom
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