It's not easy being a pair of pants; the term itself proves that my very existence is misunderstood. Why, I'm a single organism, an individual being! There's no two of me in the universe, (though I will admit to having seen cheap imitations of my svelteness on the streets). So let's get over it people! I'm not a pair! I am simply PANTS!
Again I say, it's not easy being pants. For one, I always have to worry if my zipper's down. I'm fond of shouting "Hey up there, I can't pull the damn thing up by myself you know! I'm just PANTS!!!" But of course, humans can't understand clothics, nor can they hear the frequencies in which we speak.
Shirt laughs at me when I yell; he thinks I just like the sound of my own voice. "Well maybe that's so" I've told him; "I do enjoy the vibrations created by my bottom register". He only answers "Well if your patron didn't have such a large bottom, perhaps you'd not have such a deep tone!"
I like shirt. He has a sense of place, you know. He's always trying to keep himself tucked in to my waistband. He says it's just that he feels more at home there, near undapants, but I think he's careful to not slop over my belt loops and cover up my marvelous pleats. After all, he came complete with French cuffs and collar tabs; it's obvious he has a wonderfully refined taste, by design. And my pleats are to die for, or so my human's girlfriend said when he modeled me at Sears big and tall shop.
Actually, I like nearly all my compatriots. Shirt's great, belt is snuggly and smells just like boots... in fact sometimes I can't help but think they're related, but they look so different; one brown, one light purple. I'd ask them but they're always too busy to talk; and I would hardly be inclined to interrupt belt when his sole purpose in life is to keep my buttons from popping by holding back the massive belly above him.
There is one pair of fellows though, that I'm not fond of; a cheeky sort of fabric, a gaggle of multicolored megalomaniacs if you were to ask me. It's socks I'm speaking of. Yes, both of them! Do you know what they did to me? Why just last winter when patron left the house to walk in a fresh snowfall, they insisted that they be pulled up and over my cuffs! Can you imagine? Rainbow striped, ten toed geeks! That's what they are! Somehow, patron heard them and stopped at a park bench to sit and pull socks up and over me. ME! So the snow wouldn't get in they said! Like I'd let snow get between me and legs!
I was so angry I lobbied for the threaded collective to convince patron that he didn't need socks; that it was far more fashionable to simply wear shoes without socks at all! And guess what! It worked! The human hasn't worn socks for six months!
But as I said, it's not easy being pants; because now I have another problem. Shoes are really starting to stink. I suppose from having no socks to collect the sweat. Now I'd hardly mind, it's a small price to pay so as to show socks who's boss... but you can't imagine what it's like to be me when shoes stink. It's not like I can go anywhere. I'm like the last thing taken off every night, and the first thing on in the morning; unless he had sex and then undapants has the honor... well unless he had sex with himself and then undapants stays right where he is.
Undapants says he can't smell shoes. Me? I can't smell anything else for clothing's sake!
Darned socks! I hate socks! Life was good until SOCKS ruined everything!