The Confession

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Oct 6th, 2011
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Who wouldn’t want a magical pair of pants? Many of you may well have heard of the mysterious pair of Levi jeans, that got sent around the world in, “The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants.” For those of you who have not, it was a coming of age series of novels about four young women who inherit a pair of magical jeans from their mothers. Even though all of them are different shapes and sizes, the jeans fit them each perfectly, and they decide to share them, vowing to never wash them, for fear of them losing their “mojo”.

It’s a charming series of stories, and a favorite of both of my daughters. Whoever was in possession of the jeans, had wonderful adventures that enriched their lives and drew them closer to becoming adults. You can imagine my surprise, when I discovered that my daughters had somehow managed to create their own pair of mystical breeches. The result, is my tale of the magical basketball shorts, as told by the primary source.



I am a Champion. Well, not exactly, but I was made by Champion. I am approximately 6 years old, and am 100% black mesh polyester, save my elastic waistband. Even though my manufacturer is a US company, I was made in Cambodia. I guess you could say that I’ve been around.

I was first purchased through an intramural basketball program in a small New Jersey town. My original owner was a lanky, eleven year old girl, who quickly grew disenchanted with the sport, and tossed me into the back of a dresser drawer. Sitting there in that dark space, for over a year, I dreamed of a better life for myself, and vowed that if I ever made it out of there alive, I would grace the life of whoever wore me, and bring them excitement and joy.
One day, as I lay napping along side of a fuzzy sweater with little sheep embroidered on it, I was suddenly awakened by a burst of light. Could it be?

Was clemency possibly in my future? I heard two voices, giggling away, and thought I heard one say,

“I know those old shorts are in here. You can have them. They’ll fit you, your shorter than me. My mom doesn’t care. I haven’t worn them in over a year.”

Then, the defining moment came. The girl plucked me out of the drawer, and tossed me across the room, a far better throw then any of her former basketball passes.
“Here, Rachel. Wear these,” called my exiler.

“Thanks,” said a strange new voice. It was the voice of my new owner, a tiny young girl named, Rachel. “They fit. Great! Now lets go out in the boat.”

I couldn’t believe it. It was that simple. I was free, and going out on the high seas on my very first adventure. (Okay, it was a tiny paddle boat, on a very small back yard pond, but, it was exciting!) The girls were fun to be around, and they loved to talk in funny voices and make up wild stories. I remembered my promise to bring excitement and joy into my new owner’s life, and a tingle went through every fiber in my drip-dry self. Rachel began to laugh hysterically, which caused her pal to start laughing louder, and the rest of the afternoon was full of great memories.

Since that wonderful day of my freedom, I have been washed over 200 times, no longer have the white panther logo on my left side, and have lost a bit of my elasticity, but unlike those jeans in the previously mentioned novels, not one ounce of my magic has been lost. In fact, I have also traveled the world, and have been worn by 3 other people in the process.

My first encounter with “the older sister” came several years after I joined the family. Home from college, she needed something to wear, and chose me out of several other pairs of shorts. I was torn, and didn’t know what to do, but decided to bring a little bit of magic into her life as well. Wearing me, she wrote the essay that allowed her to transfer to the college of her dreams, as well as several songs that will be on her very first album as a singer/songwriter. She decided I was a lucky pair of shorts, and attempted to steal me from Rachel. One day, when Rachel came to visit, she found me in her sister’s New York City dorm room, and took me back to New Jersey.

Of course, I was more than happy to be there for Rachel during her hours of homework, vocal practice, and several final exams. I went to musical rehearsals,  played Annie Oakley, and were the “lucky shorts” under Rachel’s gaudy “Madame Thenardie” costume when she was in Les Mis. I was almost lost when a bag of clothes got misplaced, but my magical vibes brought Rachel back to me, and I survived another washing.

The second encounter came in Toulouse , France, in the Summer of 2011. The older sister went on vacation to visit her new love, and I was chosen to be kidnapped and taken away with her. I was happy to oblige, as Rachel had taken to wearing me only to bed, having replaced me with some other, more fashionable shorts. I needed to get out and see the world again. In France, I was worn by the “boyfriend”, who had declared, “These will never fit me. They are tiny.”

Evening In Toulouse

“Au Contraire”, mon ami. I am made of magical polyester, and while I may appear small, I will fit you perfectly. This is why I got to spend an afternoon wandering the streets of Toulouse, and how my temporary owner was able to find a vintage black velvet blazer for only 40 Euro! I was very happy to oblige, and even happier that he didn’t trade me in for another pair of shorts. I got to experience the love of two people who had both worn me, and at one point, even became the bedding for one of the French boy’s cats. (The cat doesn’t really count as an owner, you see, but I did make sure that she had pleasant, mice-filled dreams.)

I made my way back to New York, where I was rescued once again by my dear, sweet Rachel. “Stop taking my lucky shorts!” She was not pleased with her sister.

She hid me in a secret place, and vowed to never let me out of her sight again. Of course, that was short-lived, and by mid-September, I found myself residing in the East Village, on the 5th floor of a walk-up apartment. Unfortunately, my abductor was not wearing me very often, having thrown me in a box behind her bed. Then, she fell suddenly ill and was rushed to the hospital. I didn’t know what to do.

Fortunately, she returned, along with her mom, and I was discovered during a rush to find something for the mother to wear. She was overheated, and had no clothes with her. What could she possibly wear that  her size 2 daughter owned? My tiny fiberous ears twitched, and I sent out a signal to her sick child. “Have her wear me,” I whispered from the box.

“Hey, Mom, why don’t you wear Rachel’s black shorts. I have them here.”

“They’ll never fit me. Aren’t they a size small?”

I smiled, and that tingly feeling came all over me again. She took me in her hands, held me up, stretched my elastic, and said, “No way.”

“No, no, Mom. Go try them on. I just know they will fit. They are magic shorts. That’s why I keep stealing them from Rachel. They fit Ollie, and he’s over 6 feet tall.”

“Magical shorts? Well, I always loved the books about the jeans, so I’ll give them a try,” replied “Mom” (I feel as if she is my mother too. After all, she has washed and dried me, folded me and put me in my special place, all tucked in and ready to be worn, for many years.) We went into the bathroom, and sure enough, I fit! I’m not sure how much magic I brought into her life, but the smile on her face when she washed and folded me the next morning, made me feel special. ”

“I guess you really are a very special pair of shorts. Thank you for fitting me last night. I didn’t want to sleep in my jeans, and that tiny apartment is so hot,” she remarked to me in a soft whisper. I knew she was afraid that the laundromat lady would overhear her, and sent out a little vibe of my inner happiness her way. As you may have guessed, I made my way back to Jersey, and am wondering where I will end up next. It is getting chilly outside, and sweatpants and leggings are all the rage around here.

I may spend some time in a dark dresser drawer, but know deep in the recesses of my mesh, that my adventures have only just begun. And so, I have confessed of the magic I behold, to anyone who owns me, and has love within their soul.


You may find this tale a bit silly, but I happen to believe in miracles, and can testify that the story you have just read is true. Magic shorts exist, and I imagine this pair will grace my daughters with many more adventures and much joy, for as long as its polyester survives. Who knows, they may even get passed down to a new generation. Why not?

Magic Happens... If You Believe




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