Monday, October 4, 2010

Pantless in Ohio, or "How I Learned to Respect Lady Gaga & Worship the GAP"

"I'll be home in 15 minutes," my mom tells me, & then we'll go look at a car she's been eying for me. (For now, I'm entirely dependent on her transportation schedule & my own two feet.) When she gets home, I'm not ready. "We have a problem," I announce somewhat frantically. "I can't find any pants."

Unpacking is a boon, sure, because you don't always pack the way you want to unpack, making things difficult to locate. But still, I labeled my boxes pretty clearly. I should be able to find a pair of trousers, right?

Wrong.

We're short a suitcase. WE'RE SHORT A SUITCASE. Commence freaking out. "Where could it be?" I shout repeatedly, because I'm quite sensible & helpful in situations like these. Though, to be fair, I've never been in a lost-all-my-pants situation before.

"Could you have left it on the loading dock? Or in the yard?" my mom asks of The Missing Suitcase. No & no. NO. Right? "I can't leave the house!" I scream repeatedly. Again with the sensible & helpful.

In a moment of sanity, I pick up the phone & dial my now-former roommate, Jason. "Do you have my suitcase?" I inquire, somewhat impatiently. [Sorry, Jason: I want to know how your own move went, I swear I do, but pantless me had no time to waist waste.]

He's quite sure he doesn't have The Missing Suitcase. But oh, wait! "Gavi, is this your suitcase?" I hear him ask, followed by an unzipping sound. "We have your suitcase." Cue cheering! HUZZAH! They promise to mail me said suitcase on Monday, bless their hearts.

But... I'm still not wearing any pants. And FedEx ground takes a couple days, at best, which means I'm either wearing flannel in public or I'm housebound for a few days. It's too cold for dresses when my tights are all lost in the packing abyss, & I refuse to wear my mother's pants. Mostly because she's 4'11" & I'm 5'5", which feels like a logical, not-too-vain reason.

And then I find an old pair of GAP ankle pants with a giant hole in the crotch. They used to be my favorite until, you know, they developed a giant hole in the crotch. Giving them an old needle-&-thread go, I diligently patch up the crotchal region & slip them on victoriously. "We can leave the house now," I announce, prepared to wear them for the next week.

And then I remember that I've long had a coupon to the GAP for a free - free! FREE! - pair of jeans. "Where'd you get this coupon?" the GAP employee asks enviously as I cash it in for my gratis pair of skinnies. I tell her I attended a brand party more than a year ago. I was skeptical at the time, but it turns out that that coupon, almost literally, saved my butt. "Holding onto it for something special?" the employee asks.

Special indeed.
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