an open letter
Dear My Favorite Gray Yoga Pants,

I just wanted to write and tell you how much I love you. I apologize for my recent underappreciation. I'm not sure why I sometimes put you away and forget you exist... it might be because, like so many other things and people I like, you're somewhat unclassifiable.

You don't belong with the pajamas because you're more versatile than their modest reach; you don't belong with the work pants because they're terrible snobs; you don't belong with the gym clothes because, despite your name, you are not really worn to yoga -- you are a little too baggy for that, but don't take it personally. You are perfect just the way you are. You should have your own section, your own special unclassifiable shelf lined in raw lavender silk and cedar panels, labeled "Perfect."

Don't tell Best Black Work Pants or Fuzzy Blue Pajama Bottoms, but you are the crucial pants component of my post-nuclear-holocaust clothing set. If I had to give all of you up one by one, you and Wesleyan T-Shirt and Striped Red Hooded Sweater would be the last things protecting me from the cruel world.

Winter, spring, summer or fall, Yoga Pants. All you've got to do is call.

Sincerely,
Your Ever-Faithful Servant.