Remember the other day when I said I have two uniforms (jeans/white T and jeans/black T)? I should clarify. Those are the uniforms I have for when I leave the house. When I’m at home–which is where I work so I’m here a lot unless I’m out shopping for shit I’ll wind up hating 30 seconds later–I’m either in PJs or workout clothes.

I suppose it’s worth noting that my husband works out of the house, too. I have a “she shed” out back and he has a “man cave” down below (and it’s literally a cave – he’s 6’3″ and his hair brushes the ceiling in places), and every single day he gets up and showers and gets dressed like he’s actually going to work before he ducks into his cave. “I just feel better about myself when I do,” he says. “Whatever floats your boat,” I tell him, shuffling out to my shed in my cat-scratched Lulus.

I guess the point of this story is I have a lot of “work clothes.” Like these ugly yoga pants, for example.

I love hot pink and orange together as much as the next gal, but I think we can all agree that band is a little… much. Then there’s the overall fit, which I’d describe as less yoga-pant, more worn-out-pajama-bottom. And can we talk about the pockets for a sec? What could I possibly need to have handy in the middle of getting my Zen on that also wouldn’t slide right out during my sun salutation series? 

I hate everything about these pants, frankly. Also I can’t wait to hear all of my snarky fashion-editor friends’ comments!