This morning I turned on the TV to see if there was anything traffic related I should know about. The ruddy-faced weatherman announced that there was some cabin-fever in Stumptown. The roads were crowded but all the schools were shut down.
I penned him a polite note when I got in, informing him that teleportation hadn’t been invented yet and that people use cars to go to work, too.
I’m wearing what I consider to be my most heavy-duty wool pants. They’re also my vintage wool pants. My mom gave them to me a long time ago. When she first gave them to me, I still lived in California and didn’t understand how wonderful wool pants are.
But then for a long time I couldn’t fit into them. Now I can fit into them and I love wool.
The only thing is that they are the most high waisted pants on the planet. The waistband is bumping against the bottom of my ribcage right now. I didn’t like the low waistband thing for a long time. But now that I’m used to it, the high waistband is uncomfortable and for reasons I’m guessing are juvenile flashbacks, feels super dorky.
I went to Pendleton a couple months ago to look for new heavy-duty wool pants, assuming they’d updated the cut since these ancients ones I’m wearing were made. Nope. Up-to-my-armpits waistband. Maybe I should pen them a polite note.