When I'm not wearing my Party Pants

This morning I woke up with one distinct thought:

I do not want to put on pants today. I don’t, I don’t, I don’t.

It was subsequently followed by this thought:

I don’t want to put on a loose-fitting shirt or wear a scarf, either.   

But mostly it was:

I don’t want to put on pants.

Today, I miss skirts and dresses.  This feeling has nothing to do with my desire to be fashionable – we all know I have no inclination for that.  I would simply like to acknowledge the fact that I have legs.  The poor things have been neglected as of late.

As a compromise, I put on a pair of too big cropped trousers (and a loose-fitting shirt and a scarf).   But I wasn’t happy about it…  Neither was the man who glared at me more intensely than I have been glared at in a while when I walked to the bus stop.  How dare I wear Western clothing in not-Banjara-Hills and walk down the street? Imagine if I’d put on a skirt, like I wanted to.

(Also, if I put on a skirt, I’d have to shave my legs.  There are tradeoffs in this life, I suppose.)

(This is because I don't have a picture that fits and I feel like Liz Lemon would feel the same as me about pants.)

Man, what a pain it would be to be a man and wear pants everyday for the rest of your life.  That’s just boring.