My Pants Are On Fire

In the past week I’ve spent several 28-hour days at a peculiarly popular southern California theme park. I am happy to inform everyone that visiting theme parks as a ‘thing’ is not dead, and neither are yoga pants.

“Welcome to 2009,” you might say. “Were you locked in a broom closet the past five years?” you might ask. The answer, sadly, is yes.

I was definitely aware of tight spandex trousers and how they’ve escaped from the sweaty abode of spin classes, but the presence of so many stroller-hefting moms and vacationing teenagers wearing this apparel was a surprise akin to a hitchhiker being given a lift by a bus full of supermodels. Feminism may have been in atrial fibrillation, but this humble fabric from DuPont Laboratories has shocked it back to life. How else to explain the male slaves pushing double-decker strollers of children behind the tightly-panted females? Drugs? Not possible, and believe me, I tried. Uncle Walt is everywhere.

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