Ode to Ninja Pants

Not too far from pajamas, an article of clothing exists that pleases more women (and some men) than The Manolo would care to calculate. The clothing in question: the Ninja Pants. What are Ninja Pants? Why, they are those black stretchy, comfy pants that one wears at home, when blogging or when going to the grocery store and pretending to have just worked out. They are also the pants one wears if one actually is a Ninja--nunchucks, bow-staffs, pony-tails, bald heads.

For the female, middle-aged, mushy American,they go by other names--yoga pants (thus the work-out confusion), weekend pants (if you read Land's End for entertainment ala 1930 outhouse), or glorified sweat pants (no elastic in the bottom).

Please do not confuse Ninja Pants with '80s-era tights. Those blasphemous bottoms make even the skinny look fat. And they make the chunky look like an upside down Weeble Wobble. As an added word of advice to crotch baring babes, tights were ugly the first time around, they are ugly even disguised at "skinny" jeans, and, your significant charms not withstanding, they look ugly on you, too.

I want to make clear hear that I'm not saying that Ninja Pants are particularly flattering unless you dig panty lines, or worse, the scintillating idea that she might not be wearing panties because I see no lines. No, Ninja Pants lack form and are all function. They expand and contract with bloatation. They give here a little, there a little, after the unhappy super, enlarged meal that one shares while the tiny toot enjoys a Cheeseburger Happy Meal (PLAIN). Ninja Pants, the black ones, go with everything. And they go everywhere. At least I think they do.

This last assertion is in dispute. In fact, I did not realize my comfy, black, stretchy, elastic banded Ninja Pants were Ninja Pants. I didn't know they were so named until a friend said, quite snootily, I might add, "Nice Ninja Pants."

"Excuse me?"

"Your Ninja Pants. Those look really comfortable." Did I catch a tone there?

"They are comfortable. Thank you, for noticing." Thoughtful pause. "Are you making fun of me?"

"Nahhh....." He smirks in a way to let me know that he was most certainly making fun of me. "My wife has Ninja Pants. They look good on her, too." Wait a minute, I just received the Caddyshack Rodney Dangerfield eye-roll, "They look good on you, though."

So, I've spent some time pondering Ninja Pants, having been publicly shamed. Upon reflection, I still love them. Sorry, Manolo. It really can't be helped. If tight jeans bothered me when I was 16 and a Size 5, don't be surprised that I gravitate to Ninja Pants in paunchy adulthood.

Ninja Pants don't judge me. They forgive, in a way that the fashionable just don't. Fashion is ruthless. She is a harsh, unrelenting mistress. Fickle and demanding, who needs her? I've come to the point in my life that I prefer the kind, gentle, patient possessions who live and let live. Ninja Pants love all of me. And I love my Ninja Pants.