Thoughts On Used Leather Pants

I was in the thrift store the other day. It must have been a Monday or Thursday because those are the sale days.

(Right now 75% of you are thinking. “What a cheapskate, he only goes to the thrift store on sale days.” The other 25% are thinking. That guy really knows how to shop.” Well. You’re all correct. But I’m probably only going to be friends with the 25% because my feelings are a little hurt by all of you who called me a cheapskate.)

Anyway. I was in the thrift store the other day and I ran into one of the more unusual items I have seen there. That’s saying a lot for a thrift store. There is no shortage of odd stuff. I was sorting through the pants and what did I find but two pair of leather pants. This begged some important questions. Were these donated by the same person? I’m just going to assume that they were. If so, why? Why would someone who made the significant investment of buying two pair of leather pants, just give them away? Did they gain too much weight to wear them? Did they convert to veganism and feel overwhelming guilt whenever they put them on? Were they ironically killed running with the bulls in Pamplona? Or, perhaps saddest of all, did they finally give up on their rock star dreams?

No matter the answer to any of those questions, the fact remained that I was staring at two pair of leather pants that were a terrific deal. Especially on sale day. I stood there and imagined myself fronting my own rock band. Never mind the fact that I have no discernible musical talent. That doesn’t seem to stop a lot of lead singers. Rock n roll is more about attitude and looking good. Hence the leather pants. But could I actually wear used leather pants? The answer is no. I feel like leather pants are a one owner kind of item. Like underwear, or athletic cups, or q-tips. No matter what you do to them, it seems to me that leather pants are still going to contain some of the soul, and other residues, of the original owner. I just couldn’t get past that. In my mind those pants contain less of the cow they are made from than the person who first wore them. I mean. Imagine the sweat. (~SHIVER~)

So I walked away. I left the pants hanging there with the used khakis and sweatpants and the ghost of their owner. When I returned on the next sale day, the pants were gone. Some brave, cheap, aspiring rock star had picked them up and is probably at this moment sweating in them in his garage while he and his buddies play a barely passable cover of Stairway To Heaven. Rock on my unhygienic friend.