I feel like someone has ripped a hole in my heart, spat on my lifeless body and then stomped all over it with pointy, pointy shoes. Why?

My favorite pants are no longer fixable.

Sigh.

I tore a big hole in the butt of them a few weeks ago while at work, and, although the hole was from wear and not on a seam, I did a fantastic job of mending them and they were as good as new.

Or so I thought.

Today, while checking to see that the shelves in the back were fully stocked, I squatted down and heard the increasingly familiar sound of the thin, worn-out seat of my pants giving up the fight.

It was like the universe was whispering to me. It was saying, "Hey, you. Stop wearing comfortable pants at work. You look like a hobo."

"Also, everyone hates you. Go eat ice cream."

I might be exaggerating, slightly, but I don't think so. After all, we've had such good times together. I can't help but dwell on all of the comfy non-stomach-squishy goodness that my pants and I have shared over the past few years.

I am also thinking about the sad lack of comfortable black pants in my dresser at home. Granted, these pants are at least a size too big, but I like the convenience of not having to unzip my pants when I run down the hall to go to the bathroom. Really, these bad boys will slip off with just a slight suck-in of my abs.

It's great. Don't judge.

Anyway, besides having to make sure my butt is always either in my chair or up against a wall for the rest of the day, I am having to contemplate a replacement pair of pants. Beside the fact that these pants, which I got online a few years ago for a mere $15 on clearance are now $60 (which I realize wouldn't be that bad, since I know I will love them and wear them all of the time, but I just can't), I feel like I am losing a dear friend.

Can you just see us running together in a field in the sunshine? I can.

Well, not really the running part. At any rate, I probably need to stop hanging on to them. It's time.

Remember the episode of The Cosby Show where Rudy loses her fish? It's like that.

We'll be having a funeral this evening. 

Pants are optional.