An Open Letter to My Thighs

Let me get something straight: I love that you ladies are so close.

I love that you met in Paris when you were just 16. I love that you came together over your love for baguettes and Orangina and chocolate croissants. I love that you’ve been practically inseparable ever since.

I love that.

And I would not want to go back to those dark days when you didn’t even know each other, okay? I know that that works for some people. But, I’ve seen both sides, and I prefer my thighs to be on the extra side of extra friendly.

So, don’t worry. I’m not suggesting that you break up or anything.

It’s just.

You need to stop sabotaging my pants.

Don’t argue with me. I know it’s you. The holes always show up in the exact same spot.

This is not the work of knees. (Photo credit: http://ow.ly/PLXmx)

Do you understand how upsetting it is to realize that your thighs have rubbed their way through another pair of pants? Do you?

Let me put it into terms that you will definitely understand: Me + hole-filled pants = you + Fran The Yoga Teacher announcing that we’re doing The Lizard.

Yeah. THIS lizard. (Photo credit: http://ow.ly/PLXsr)

Listen. I know that you just want to be together, and that pants get in the way of your sweet, sweet loving. But, do you realize how overpriced pants are, these days? This isn’t 1995. You can’t just stroll into K-Mart and buy $5 pants, anymore.

And, do you know who has to pay for the new hole-less $60+ pants every time you guys rub your way through another pair?

Yeah, that’s right. Me. And I wear a baseball hat and a polo to work, guys. That kind of shit doesn’t pay well.

If you’re wearing a baseball hat to work, you do NOT have the kind of financial stability necessary to support your thighs’ sweet, sweet lovin’. (http://ow.ly/PLXVF)

FUTHERMORE. Do you know how alarming it is to take off a pair of pants at the end of the day and realize that your pasty white thighs have been hanging out?

Maybe you want to say hello to everyone below me on the escalator, but, I don’t like wondering how many people have seen my inner thighs on a given day. That is a piece of information that I’d always like to know, if possible.

Look. I know you two didn’t mean any harm. That those gaping holes are just a product of your sweet, beautiful love. But, your actions have consequences. And I want you to think of that the next time that you find a pair of pants between the two of you.

Remember, pants are not a permanent thing. You will see each other again.

X

RG