My dear readers, I feel I have let you down. To be fair, I've also let myself down. I bought leggings.
I know. I was in Target, doing that thing where you go to Target to get a gift for your friend's adorable three year old and then all of a sudden you're buying shampoo and nail polish and unripe avocados and a bubble machine (and batteries and backup bubbles because you are a nice friend) aaaaaaand leggings. And a bra that you will eventually take back because you picked up "B" instead of "D." And of course they don't have that color in D. Or they do and it's a 32 D and who the hell exactly wears that size? Because that is some Barbie-proportioned shenanigans.
So, yeah. Leggings. But here's the truth about leggings: that shit is comfortable.
I know. Now, obviously, I am not going to violate Rule #1 of Way Too Shay Nation (Leggings Are Not Pants) but I will say leggings are making me feel just a little more secure today. The plaid shirt dress I love ever-so-much is just a mite too short and I usually just throw on some black tights and boots (because 1994) and decide that it's okay for my shirt dress to be a little more shirt than dress. But with leggings? I'm not worried about Joe Commuter glimpsing more thigh that is necessary on the 47 bus. I mean, seriously, Joe Commuter - if you want to glimpse the these thighs, you'd better buy a ticket (shameless plug).
There you go, my dear readers. Up is down, black is white, and leggings are comfortable. But they will never, ever be pants.