Bad Wolf Productions #5
‘The Ballard Of Last Day Pants’ – We’ve all had them. Those pants that reach the end of a long, hard road; that have struggled against the odds, met every challenge one’s waistline and nether regions can throw at them and returned, after valiantly surviving hot washes and blustery days, to once again ‘hug that which polite society would rather go unmentioned’.
They are the unsung heroes of the garment universe, those that go where socks fear to tread. And now, for one pair of battle scarred black pants, ‘the last day’ had dawned. Huddled into the rearmost part of the drawer, they survived day after day, week after week, as lithe, youthful pants were pulled out ahead of them to joyously enter the fray. But ‘Last Day Pants’ knew things were not right. The new pants were not returning, to once again shield ‘Last Day Pants’ in the one cloak of velvety, secret darkness. Each day the drawer became brighter and brighter, until today, when the hand of fate reached in and a finger hooked over the loop of waistline elastic that had long since given up the uneven battle to hold onto the material below.
Bought at a time when there was less of him than existed this morning, ‘Last Day Pants’ groaned as they were inched ‘up and over’, with all the sadistic intent of ‘The Rack’ under the hand of the Spanish Inquisition. “Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more…” whispered ‘Last Day Pants’, who knew that never again would they feel the refreshing rush of Persil or pivot and cavort like a spring lamb in the warmth of the tumble dryer, for they had become ‘Last Day Pants’; too scarred for any rag bank, only the ignominy of landfill remained.
Please bow your heads in silent, sad contemplation of ‘Last Day Pants’.