Hovering 3 inches above my ankles, the leggings were just my size. I tried out multiple positions I would have never attempted with lesser pants, and the flexible material knew just how to accommodate my moves. Under normal circumstances, I’d have worn the pants without any undergarments, but as I was working at a garage sale, I felt it a bit distasteful to have a fruit basket protruding around the front seam, so I braved the horrid underwear lines and bunching in the name of civility.
Originally, the pants cost $4, but Carrie, the previous owner, agreed to come down a buck considering I was already strapped into the pants and wasn’t willing to give them up without a fight. She knew just how agile they would make me. $3 was a steal considering the pants were worn by a real live woman. Carrie was even gracious enough to give me the pants’ history and handling instructions so that I could pass the knowledge along when it came time for my children to wear these warrior garments.
“I bought them at Rave, for a superhero party.” she said.
“Fittingly enough,” I said. “I’m a superhero.”
“Really? What’s your power?”
“I can wear the shit out of shiny girls’ clothes.”
Nobody wanted to fuck with me after that. Like Clark Kent dressed in tights, they could tell something had irrevocably changed about me.
“Three dollars!” exclaimed Kaylee, a member of the Vitale design syndicate, after examining the quality of the stitching. “You could melt those down and sell them for a fortune. Shit. I should have invested in silver pants.”
I didn’t dare take the pants off for the rest of the event. I could see how others kept eyeing them, wanting to feel their healing power and to be comforted by the silky metal material.
“How much?” one overwhelmed shopper asked, holding a bundle of bills to me as if sucked in by the magnetic material. I told her she didn’t have to pay to touch my pants. It turned out she just wanted to buy a flashy purse and assumed I was the person to talk to. Still, it’s irrefutable that the silver pants convinced her that I was the person in charge.
The power of the pants was proven when I asked if I could take a picture of a nicely tanned, tattooed and trim woman named Chrissy, and she asked if I would also like her phone number. I’m not making this up. This shit happened. Listen, I understand that I have more power over women than a blowout shoe sale, but my Macauley Culkin looks can’t take all the credit. When women say they like a guy with confidence, what they really mean is they like a guy who can pull off silver pants in the midday summer heat. And even though the tight pants shrink wrapped my junk from a full-grown Christmas fruit basket down to a bag of trail mix, the silver acted as a solar panel, energizing me for the rest of the day like some kind of topical Viagra.
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