I had to break down and buy some new exercise capris. Because you guessed it: The old ones have a gaping hole at the crotch. Not that that prevented me from wearing them during my morning walk. (In my defense, I didn’t realize it would be that light outside that early, and I was wearing black underwear, which matched the pants, and I figured anybody looking around down there deserved whatever horrors they saw — until I came upon some kids at a bus stop and then really regretted being so cavalier about my crotch hole.)
ANYway, I can already tell these pants aren’t going to make it through the summer because when I shower, big chunks of black fuzz are going down the drain. And I have worn them multiple times, so this isn’t new-pants fuzz; this is the fabric being worn away by the friction between my mighty thighs. So now I am thinking that I need to launch a new line of exercise pants made of the material they use to make tents (the kind you get married under, not those flimsy backyard-camping things). Treated to be fire-retardant, obviously, because again, FRICTION. And I will market them through the same catalog that offered me an outdoor bench that was as wide as it was long and was rated for 500 pounds. Because those are my people.