There has been a tiny pair of pants laying on the strip of lawn next to my driveway since Tuesday. I’m not sure why they’re there or where they came from, but I’ve chosen to leave them there. It’s like they’re supposed to be there. Like somehow a tiny pair of olive green cargo pants with the legs puffed out wide as though an invisible set of legs were still in them is a sign of good luck or blessings or something.
I mean, think about it. If I move the pants, is that like breaking a mirror or walking under a ladder? I can’t find anything on the internet about sudden appearances of tiny pants, so it’s not like there’s a tiny pants epidemic. I guess the fact that I haven’t been acosted while playing World of Warcraft or spammed to death on MySpace supports that finding…
So for the moment, the tiny pants and I are existing in a sort of oblivious harmony. I know they’re there and they know I’m here and we’re just moving along together like strangers sharing a bench on a subway train. Your guess is as good as mine as to where we’ll end up.
(OH MY GOD the cliché of it all!)
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