I Love My Roots Sweatpants

roots sweatpants

I LOVE my Roots sweatpants with a fierce passion.

I love the giant elasticized waist with its uber-forgiving drawstring, and the weird, variegated gray colour that camouflages dog hair and lint and occasional food stains. I love the thick, warm cotton that lets me wear my comfortable underwear without any tell-tale panty lines. And I love the fact that there are pockets; real pockets that are big enough to swallow up money and credit cards and cell phones (which is sort of important because I don’t think there’s a handbag that goes with Roots sweatpants).

But I most of all, above all of its design perfections, I love my Roots sweatpants because they make decisions for me… good decisions that invariably end with my body stretched out on the sofa, belly-full of warm tea and honey, thoughts mellowed by mindless channel surfing.

My Roots sweatpants are both wise and kind. They say ‘no’ to anything that requires putting on mascara but ‘yes’ to mud facials and at-home pedicures. They say ‘no’ to taking the dog for an hour long hike but ‘yes’ to rubbing his belly for as long as he likes. They say ‘no’ to making elaborate dinners but ‘yes’ to ordering pizza. They refuse to go out for dinner and a movie but are willing to slide into the multiplex at the last minute and enjoy a bucket of popcorn in an already darkened theatre.

Sometimes, I lose touch with my Roots sweatpants for awhile; bury them under a bunch of yoga pants and forget about them. But even when abandoned and ignored, they do not give up on me. No… They bide their time, knowing that one day I will reach down through all of that unforgiving, flab-grabbing lycra lululemon and re-connect.

Today was one of those days.  I spent the morning at an outdoor event, schmoozing with my neighbours while pretending that I wasn’t freezing to death.  The weather app insisted that it was 17 degrees and sunny but I am pretty sure the weather app folks are all stoners who haven’t really been outside since their app made them all millionaires.  Anyway… I came home with blue fingers and numb toes, which led me to the sock drawer.  And finding my Roots socks made me wonder where my Roots sweatpants went to, which made me look through the bottom drawer, and voila!

Suddenly I am warm and comfortable and putting on a firelog. My Roots sweatpants have said ‘no’ to grocery shopping.  They have said ‘yes’ to a marathon viewing of Buffy the Vampire Slayer on Netflix and another confident ‘yes’ to the pint of Haagen-Dazs ice cream I uncovered in the back of the freezer.  I love my Roots sweatpants!

Author: kim scaravelli

Kim lives in Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada, with her long-suffering husband, an assortment of off-spring, a charming cat named Winnie, and a less charming (but oddly loveable) schnauzer named Buster.

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