Into the Open. With Pants.

Last night I reached my limit for repeated viewings of episodes of How I Met Your Mother, so I put on pants (trousers for my U.K. readers) for the first time in five days.

Well, real, outside pants, anyway. Don't panic. I've been wearing pajama pants since Thursday's surgical fun. It's not turning into the Condor Club around here, I assure you.

Pants are kind of tricky right now, though, because I've still got some swelling and stitches that make the ordinary process of wearing pants/ trousers kind of complicated. Pajamas are ideal, because they're loose and lightweight, but they're not really socially acceptable in public once you're out of college.

As a rule, I like wearing pants. It's an activity that fits well with who I am and who I hope to become. Not a lot of respect out there for the pantsless.

Even when I wear a skirt, I put on shorts underneath. First, the shorts greatly reduce the phenomenon Laurie Notaro calls "chub rub." And second, I like having a little more fabric separating the world from my bidness.

This week, though, as I say, it's complicated. I need something lightweight that won't bind and squeeze around the swelling and the stitches. Right now, I've got one pair that will fit the bill, and that won't be enough for the next few weeks. As much as I've mocked the concept of Pajama Jeans, I'm seeing a market for them among the post-surgical set.

Instead, I'm going to rummage around in the donation boxes still lingering in the basement (none of this is a euphemism). I've got to have a few pairs of what I can most charitably call fat pants that will fit the bill.