A long time ago, in the year 1999, I heard a song called “Mambo No. 5” by Lou Bega. It was a life-defining moment, you see, because the lyrics held a special jewel: my name! Not to mention the name of my sister. Things went uphill from there, and I skyrocketed to fame.
A few years have passed since then, and I admit I’ve lost some of that sparkle in my eye. What I needed was another “Mambo No. 5″ to rev up my engine. I needed something to come along that made me believe in the beauty of the universe again.
In comes jeggings. I layed out their amazingness last time (see Jeggings and Illness.), so I won’t bore you with those details again. What I will do however, is tell you that I have found that lovin’ feeling that I lost after my dear one-hit-wonder vanished from existence.
See, I have to be able to bend. To curl up. If I cannot do squats, try & fail to climb trees, or curl up in the fetal position at any given moment, then the pants I am wearing go in the Goodwill bin. I have been subjected constantly to the horrors of skinny jeans and levis. To the frailty of leggings. My legs and waist have been in shambles; prisoners. But then jeggings came along, and provided me with exactly what I had been missing.
I was not planning on terrorizing you, dear readers, with the sight of me wearing them. I said I feel good in jeggings … not that I look good in them. But alas, after a couple comments and some emails (seriously: 12) requesting for some strange reason that I share with you this special gift … I realize that there is no way I can deny you.
So shield your eyes, prepare a paper bag … this is Loony in Jeggings!