Unlucky Pants

 Swistle and I are fighting off the existential dread and ennui with any force necessary right now.  Might I suggest you do the same?  Buy that plant, eat that chocolate, watch Friends all weekend.  Do what gets you through the day.  Also: say no to drugs, except the legal ones. Take those.   

With this thought process, we're trying to find happy or happy adjacent, non-fraught topics to talk about.  So, here we go.

Remember when Swistle was looking for comfy pants suggestions?  Well, she was and link here: Comfy Pants

Someone mentioned the cargo pants at Old Navy, along with other pants sold there. I've had good luck with Old Navy clothing so I tried a pair.  THOUGHTS: they're nylon (omg), they're cuffed (OMG) and IF they had extra zippers and an extra pocket, they would be parachute pants from the 1980's.   

They were a little too short...like, what are the odds of that happening to me? (I'm 5'2"..used to be 5'3") However, I decided I was going to ignore the OCD/sensory issues and wear them the other day. The other day when I had to leave the house. OMGNONEVERAGAIN  #SurelyStrong

So, so SO much sensory input.  They were comfortable-ish but then I was reminded how parachute pants were tight in the morning and loose by the end of the school day.  The feel against my legs was TORTUOUS.  I even put on lotion to try to prevent that sensation but to no avail.  I finally took  them off and put them in the wash with the intention of donating them versus setting them on fire.

One star because they were momentarily comfortable but otherwise NO.  I will try Old Navy again another day.

Then yesterday the landscaper was here in the morning.  I had garden projects I wanted to do so I did the parallel play that neurospicy brains enjoy.  While he did work in the backyard, I worked in the garden.  It's growing like a weed now that it's hot so I'm really getting to see what needs replaced, trimmed or filled.  

During the pandemic, I did a rock project and they both still look good.  There are ferns everywhere that obscure some of it but I can see it during the winter when the ferns are gone.  This was part of my idea: something nice to look at when it's the Dark Months.

But one section just didn't work.  The soil wasn't good for growing and it was difficult to reach to keep the weeds away, which did grow exceptionally well there.  And I mean reach, as in climb up on the hill or onto the rocks and still not be able to fully reach.  It was an impulsive project that just didn't work.

Anyway.  I was wearing my uniform of yoga pants and a tshirt and put on my hiking boots so I wouldn't break a bone, theoretically, while working.  It's a look specific to PNW gardeners, I think.  Anyway x2.

I climbed up onto the hill, steep enough that I had made footholds in years past.  I removed the rockery rock that I used as a border and tore out two of the three survivor plants.  I couldn't get a grip on the other and so I left it for the landscaper. 

That task completed, I climbed back down and went to clean up all the rocks and weeds I'd thrown down.  My knee was sticky. Hmmm.  At first, I thought maybe I'd cut my knee because that's always a possibility.

Oh, sidequest: have you seen on the social media the question of "Do you have the scar on your knee or do you have the pencil lead in your hand?"  I think it was mostly geared to GENX but maybe not.  I have the scar on my knee; a crescent moon shape from a cinder block retaining wall from a cut that should have had stitches.

Anyway, again.

My knee was sticky because I had knelt on a slug.  Yeah. The joys of gardening in the PNW: slugs.

Now I didn't feel badly because as I've mentioned before, they're eating my hostas.  And: slug, my brain cannot anthropomorphize those.

But I have sensory issues and one of those are being sticky or slimy, of which slugs are somehow BOTH.  I tamped down my tiny panic and grabbed a garden shovel and attempted to scrape it off.  It didn't work, at all.  I grabbed the hose and tried to rinse it off.  Also didn't work and now one leg and foot was soaking wet.

The soaking wet pant leg someone distracted my brain from the yuck that was on my knee.  I was almost done with my projects so I powered through until I could go inside and shower. (let's hear it for disassociation...)

When I went inside, I put all my clothes in the laundry and made sure that the yukky part of the pant let was folded against itself so not to share the joy with all the other clothing.  After I cleaned myself up, I started laundry by pretreating the yucky with dawn powerwash.  I figured nothing could stand up to dawn soap, alcohol, and water.  I already add vinegar to the wash because I don't use fabric softener of any kind anymore.  I figured between all of that and a generous dose of tide, it would be fine.

It was not fine.  Imagine my horror, and momentary panic, when I take the pants out of the wash to find that NOTHING HAS CHANGED.  In fact, I think it just made it angry.  I set the pants aside and hurriedly shuffled through the other clothing with thoughts of a chewing gum like substance on everything.  To my relief, it did not transfer to anything else.

I brought the pants to the kitchen sink and began to search the internet for suggestions. The first suggestion was essentially what I had already done.  I could have let it soak longer but we'll never know.  The next suggestion was to take a butter knife and "gently scrape away the residue" *hork* then pretreat and wash.  NOTING THAT: it "may take several attempts to remove..."

Enter Kevin from outside as I'm sighing heavily about my fate and trying to squelch those pre-vomit tingles.  He asked what was happening and I  explained that the Slug Did Not Come Out in the Wash.  He too was very surprised then asked what the solution was.  I explained the above to him while he just patiently listens.

Then he says "Might I suggest JUST THROWING THEM AWAY!?!?"  I kind of started to laugh/cry because that seriously never occurred to me.  I was just going to try to clean it off while dry heaving on the other side of the kitchen sink.  Instead, I opened the cupboard where the garbage is and threw them away.  Then went online and ordered another pair.

Because seriously, a $25 pair of inexpensive yoga pants versus the straight up TRAUMA of cleaning slug guts off of the pants is MONEY WELL SPENT.

So, yeah, I haven't been so lucky in the pants department.  That's such a lovely double-entendre that I'm clicking publish right now.