I have a twenty-something-year-old niece who is full-on, drop-dead, Cindy Crawford-gorgeous. On top of that, she might be the single person I know who likes to shop as much as even more than I do. On top of that, she’s prone to showering my tween-and-teenage daughters with gigantic bags of barely-worn, oftentimes designer wares. So you can imagine how much they (we) worship her.

It was in one of these giveaway grab bags that we found a certain pair of Juicy sweats.

Although my fashionable spawn generally deem anything from this particular cousin instantly fabulous, they both passed on these particular pants.

“But they’re super soft!” I cried, because I’m a Taurus and we are suckers for anything soft, sparkly or grossly overpriced on sale.

No thanks!” my children chirped.

But look how cute they are,” I insisted, slipping them on.

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll keep them then.” 

I did. I said that.

Never mind that they were too tight, too short, and came up too high in the front, or that I look like a cross between The Cat in the Hat and Cindy Lou Who in them. Disregard the ginormous JUICY COUTURE down the leg.  And just forget the fact that almost-fifty-year-olds have roughly zero business wearing their twenty-something nieces hand-me-downs. These were perfectly-good-pants and obviously I could just wear them around the house (see: happening in two-thousand-and-never).

Obviously I never wore these in public. I never even wore them around the house, not even once on laundry day. I can see you tsk-tsking me and I get it. I’m right there with you. But the first step in recovery is admitting you have a problem, right?