The Black (Pants) Death

My mother is convinced that a pair of black pants solves every crisis.  For years she has mistakenly been under the impression that black pants “go with everything.”  For the record, they do not.   

Thanks to me, my mom can boast a closet of beautiful and currently fashionable clothing.  But were I to suddenly and tragically be struck down by a bus, I have no doubt that my she would immediately toss her Louboutins, head to the petite department at Talbots, and disrespect my memory. 

I received yet another call from her several weeks ago bearing that all too familiar question, “What about my black pants!”  It appears that this woman is interested in facilitating my demise  because every time she poses this question a piece of my soul dies.  
 

“Mom, you have a pair of black pants and a nice pair of black jeans.”

“No those are old and stretched out.  And I can’t wear jeans every day.”

“Well, you can’t wear black pants and a white blouse everyday either.  You look like a waitress.  Maybe what you need is some flair.”

“What’s flair?  

“Forget it, it’s from a movie.”

“I just need you to find me a pair of black pants.”

“Why don’t you wear those nice Stella McCartney pants?”

“Well those are pink and they don’t go with everything.”

“They’re not pink, they’re salmon.  And we bought two blouses to go with them.”

“Well they don't go with everything!”

“Neither do black pants.”

“Yes they do!”

“Mom, you’re killing me.”

“No I am not, but I will if you don’t find me some black pants.”

I have had pairs of black pants shipped to her from the far corners of this great nation.  The return shipping costs alone could have fueled the economy of Nicaragua.  I think this is a game to her, the Most Dangerous Game.  It’s a scavenger hunt to the death. 

I sat in front of the computer for 3 hours scouring the internet for acceptable trousers.  I ordered  8 pairs.  This morning I received a call from my Mom requesting my input on what she should wear to a luncheon.  This is another exciting game we play, it’s called “Please assemble my outfit from 3000 miles away.”  She meticulously listed the parameters of what kind of attire would be acceptable.  After taking it all in, and I cannot believe that I am about to suggest this , I say, “What about wearing black pants?”  

“Oh honey!  I can’t wear just an old pair of black pants!  

Check in at the nervous hospital is 11 AM.  I’ll be there.