Feh, Pants...

I hate pants.  Really and truly, I hate pants.  Who was the idiot who, in a fit of masochistic-inspired madness, designed pants for men to wear?  Now, I realize, quite readily, that women have far more sensitive nerve endings in the, shall we say, "crotchal region" than men do.  However, the one thing (or three things, to be precise) that men *do* have are, quite apparently, out for display, so to speak.

So why, in the name of all that is holy, would you force men to wear bifurcated garments that impinge on the natural movement of said exposed hardware?  Or, in the case of tighter pants, constrict said parts and compress them into the groin?  Seriously?

Many of my friends have noted, particularly in college, that I was not overly fond of these hell-spawned garments and would, frequently, be found in my room sans pants.  Underwear is different in the fact that it tends to be looser in that area, and so is not quite as evil.  This led to the ubiquitous name of my dorm room; The Independent Republic of Nopantsistan.  Granted, part of it also had to do with the fact that I was suffering from a bout of clinical depression at the time, but mostly it was that I really didn't want to be forced to wear the hated garments.

Nowadays, my pants are looser fitting, so this issue isn't quite as readily apparent anymore, but my arguments stand regardless.  Truly, if I had the option, I'd primarily wear a kilt.  Stupid work place dress codes.

Gah!