Leather Tuscadero

I ordered a pair of pleather pants. I don’t think I’m having a mid-life crisis. That would require a Corvette and gold chain. Perhaps, it was just a lapse in judgement. They are the “in thing.” I don’t know who decides what is trendy from season to season. Based on what I see in magazines, it must be dictated by a woman whose waist is smaller than my thigh or a man behind a curtain like the Wizard of Oz.  I would like a word with either one.  I have a bone to pick over the “cold shoulder” trend.  I get that, at my age, the sexiest thing on my body may be my shoulders. My collarbone is also known to drive men wild. That being said, I don’t want to wear a shirt that looks like it was eaten by a moth. I decide if or when I want to show off my shoulders.  Plus, I’m paying for an entire shirt. I want that material back.

When I visited New York City over the holiday there was a woman every few blocks wearing leather or pleather pants. It’s very difficult to tell the difference. Pleather has come a long way since the days when I rocked a pair with a Michael Jackson shirt. I don’t want to brag, but I had a shirt with Michael Jackson’s face on the front and my name on the back. Anyway, the women in Manhattan looked elegant. I was giddy when I pulled the package from the mailbox. As I walked back to the house I envisioned myself strutting down the street. I don’t usually walk in the street because that would be dangerous, but this is a fantasy.  Stick with me. Heads would turn, other women would stare in admiration, wishing they could be a trendsetter, too.  I did a double take when I took the pants out of the package. They looked small. I mean, really small.  I thought maybe I ordered the wrong pair.  Nope, that was my size.  Let’s just say there was nothing graceful about me trying to get those suckers on.  Imagine a sausage casing. Imagine putting a sleeping bag inside the sausage casing. I was sweating profusely and considered calling 911 for help to get them off.  There wasn’t a shirt in the world that could hide that hot mess.  At least that is how I saw it. We will never know what anyone else thinks.  Add it to the great mysteries of the world – like how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop. Those pants are going right back to the store.