I don't like to wear pants.
Get your mind out of the gutter.
I wear skirts instead. As long as I can remember, I have preferred skirts to pants. It is the rare occasion when I wear pants and then it's mostly for convenience's sake and nearly always a casual circumstance. I have only one pair of pants suitable for work and (I think this was established earlier): I never wear them.
Seriously, I don't know when I wore them last.
In the summer, I wear skirts and an assortment of sandals and flip flops. I'm not above wearing sneakers with skirts and I don't care if that makes me a fashion loser. In the winter, I wear tights with my skirts so as to keep warm. I don't wear stockings. Ever. Because they are clearly the dreadful invention of people who are not women.
Between-season periods can be a bit of a challenge for a girl like me as I'm at risk for excessive warmth or goose bumps, both conditions I don't favor. I employ the following rule of thumb: Under 55 degrees = tights; over 55 degrees = bare legs. It's not a perfect rule, but in my experience life is an imperfect business.
I enjoy my winter tights but at some point in February, I start to blame them for all the troubles in my life, minor or otherwise. And temperatures be damned, as far as I am concerned, the start of Spring Break means the changeover to spring clothes. First and foremost, that means saying good bye to winter tights, to be replaced by my pale mottled legs out for a spring spin.
Yesterday, seized by the spirit of spring cleaning, I cleaned out my tights; washed and folded the keepers and tossed out the old and otherwise rejected tights. They have been stored in the upstairs closet with a bin of winter sweaters. So if you see someone looking foolish in the next few weeks, with cold blue legs, I recommend that you remember that my willpower and I have declared it's spring. Keep your sassy remarks to yourself.