Cosmic Return

I fell in love. It was both fast and slow paced. It was one of those vacation flings while I was out in Albuquerque a few weeks ago. We met on a Thursday in a casual way- just a quick glance across a room. On Saturday we got together, but it didn't seem right so I didn't pursue it. By Monday morning it had become a full blown obsession, but I was on the plane back home.

Despite my qualms that they were a little too snug I was on the phone by Tuesday to tell my boyfriend "go buy me those pants! They are in the back right. They are corduroy but they look like velvet. They are Christopher something brand. They are half price. I must have them. Size 6- accept no substitutes."

He arrived home two weeks later with the trousers. They sat on my bureau wrapped in tissue and a little bit of regret. Perhaps they were too tight? Who was I to think I could fit into a size 6. Perhaps when I tried them on I was just having a thin day? Will I look ridiculous?

I finally put them on one morning and they fit like a glove. The corduroy was so fine, so black, so soft and amazingly did not pick up every stray white hair from my dog. This was meant to be. I wore them once. I wore them twice. They didn't stretch out and hang droopily off my butt. I LOVED these pants.

But the third time is a charm. I was meeting a client after hours on a Saturday afternoon. I wanted to look professional but Saturday relaxed. I paired the beautiful black trousers with a lapis lazuli three quarter sleeve blouse. I looked great. I assured my boyfriend I would be home by 5. The clients were difficult but engaged. I am sure my outfit tipped the scales- especially those pants. But the clients didn't leave until 5. I raced out the door of the gallery and jumped in my car. Damn! I need gas. I am racing to fill the tank but the pump isn't working. I screeched over to the next tank and fill up. I grab my receipt but noticed that someone had left theirs. I fatefully ripped it off and threw it in the trash and then turned to get into my car. And ran into my gas tank door.

The clip tore through the beautiful, soft fabric of my pants and into my hip. I was bleeding and pissed. I had only worn them three times and they were gone- nothing tears quite like corduroy. It is designed to open up like a Ziploc bag. Repair was not an option. I was so pissed that I couldn't even call my boyfriend to say I was running late. I would have bitten his head off. I hated the whole world for wrecking those trousers.

I suppose I got to look good three times. Well- what is it that they say? Pride goeth before a fall.