Seizure Pants
Grandparents always give the best gifts for Valentine’s Day. There is no self-conciousness in the purchase of a horrendous piece of clothing. But sometimes the garment can be so hideous, so vulgar, that its somehow successful. When I was twelve my grandmother bought me a pair of pajama bottoms from Gap Body. They were a deep crimson with white and candy red polka dots. Let me just say this, I’m a dude. These were probably meant for other twelve year olds who had slumber parties and talked girl talk and ate twizzlers and gossiped about french kisses. I was not a part of that elite crowd. But I wore these bottoms anyways because, you know, it could be hip. But I referred to them as my seizure pants when I wore them around my friends. I would violently shake them like the sails on a boat and expect some epileptic to fall into grand mal somewhere in the world.
I’m now epileptic.