I don’t think my pants like me.
If they do, they sure do show it in a funny way.
My pants have begun whining. Evidently, they are tired of being stretched to the max. They are tired of being pulled, prodded, and pulled again.
Well, excuse me. So sorry to have offended you.
Perhaps if you’d loosen up a bit, we wouldn’t have these little struggles.
After all, I clean you, iron you, and hang you up. It’s not like I dump you in the middle of the floor like some other people I know.
And this is how you repay me? By fussing and complaining?
All because I perhaps indulged in a few too many cookies, a Big Mac or two, full strength coke, pizza, and other such lovely, addicting items.....and I'm over 40....gasp!
Well, let me offer these words of advice to you, my lovely pants.
I would suggest you change your attitude or you may find yourself jobless.
And in this economy, that would not be a wise choice.