I lost my pants.

I lost my pants. My favorite black pants.
They fitted tight around my booty, and flared slightly past my thighs. Cuffed at the bottom.

I have no fucking idea what happened to them.
No idea.

I've searched my apartment over and over.
Called everyone whose home I frequent to ask if I had, by chance, left them there.
(Then realized that I go OVER to people's houses without pants on, not LEAVE people's houses without pants on. I am a lady, after all.)

The only explanation is that they blew away when I was drying them on the front porch.
I do this frequently. Dryers wreak havoc on clothes, especially ninety dollar dress pants.


So they're gone.

The pants I wore weekly when I was teaching.
The pants i put away for my little foray into the super-fun-and-informal- job-where-I-didn't-have-to-dress-up(that ruined about eight months of my life).
The pants I brought out, dusted off, and started wearing again when I found a job that actually paid a living wage.
The pants whose cuffs I fixed with superglue not two weeks ago.

Gone.


Last week I returned some clothing to a dear friend who informed me, "Oh, wow, I've been looking for this! I have four pieces of cloothing I just haven't been able to find."

At the time, I thought, "How does one lose clothing?"

Now I know.