I had the strangest feeling today; completely out of character for me. I was walking through the mall on my lunch break with my just-purchased bowl of soup in my hand and my earphones playing Tom Waits. Nothing out of the ordinary, just me blocking out the people and advertisements around me with a happy bubble of sound. My normal routine is to take a short outdoor constitutional to get some fresh air and clear my head. I traipse about with my Entish legs in full stride, and I sometimes check certain windows. I glance in EBgames to see what's new on the demo machines and to check if the token (and, incidentally, cute) female employee is working, I look at the Gap for as long as it takes me to renew my bloated sense of intellectual superiority, and I look at the sky to remind myself somehow that I'm really truly on a break so I can relax.

As I mentioned before, though, today was different. It was a beautiful sunny day (the type I normally avoid), and I was in an almost chipper mood (the type I normally avoid). As I made my way across the sunlit valley of suburban fetish peddlers I happened to look into a store called the Buckle. I can only assume they sell belts and or shoes, though all that is visible from outside is shirts and pants. For whatever reason, my eye fixed briefly on the "Lucky" clothing logo. I have a shirt from this particular label, one of many black shirts I own, and I rather like it. It's a good skinny guy shirt that makes a harsh contrast against the many lumbering fleshpiles that populate this state. So, while I don't usually care about labels, I do kind of like Lucky, as they make nice looking clothes that are perfect for art galleries and semi-classy restaurants. I thought about this as I walked away from the store window, and I suddenly thought that I needed a nice pair of pants.

Normally, this is not the sort of thing that will cross my mind. If my head were Wrigley Field, the thought of buying pants when I don't absolutely need them would be represented by a seagull perched on the edge of Navy Pier. I have plenty of pants. I have enough jeans and khakis to last me for weeks at a time in between laundry loads without getting dirty and funky. Why would I get the urge to buy pants, especially if I don't see a sale sign? Is this one of those maturity things where I'm supposed to want to dress well in order to feel confident? If so, then I must be regressing to some earlier age when this sort of feeling would normally afflict me, or I'm still a late bloomer. I have my work pants and my regular pants, and even a pair of pants as part of my suit. Also, I'm trying to save as much money as possible for this fall when I will be a student again. I'm not even sure why I want new pants, as I don't even know if they come in my funhouse mirror size or not. Perhaps I've been mall employee for long enough that the conditioning is starting to sink in. Perhaps I feel the need to assert myself as a vibrant twenty-something who is every bit as hip and cool as the characters on my favorite TV shows, even if only while wearing an as-yet-unseen pair of pants.

I don't know. I've rambled on about this for long enough. I do apologize to my faithful readers for the long ramble on the single subject without any kind of payoff at the end. Unless of course you're really fascinated by prospective pants purchase diatribes.