Hold up -- Before you say, �But Chicago Jo, you shop pretty often for pretty clothes you can wear to your new job. When you say "something out of character", we expect you to party with a midget offering Jager shots... Oh wait a sec,� you need some background information.

First off, I have a severe case of cheap-ass-itis that keeps me from buying any article of clothing that isn�t from a thrift store. Years of $1 name brand jeans and 50-cent like-new shirts has ruined me. When I go into a regular store and am faced with $10 on-sale items, I�m leery, checking for something -- anything -- that makes this shirt worth a whole ten dollars.

I also have a problem with finding clothes that actually fit, and pants are the worst. With their long legs, tight butts, and big waists -- Argh! I�m short, my butt is womanly, and my waist is small. Clothes really just aren�t made for small, curvy chicas. I could shop at a petites store, but the fir$t element I de$cribed that make$ $hopping difficult, coupled with the fact that I refuse to wear teal-colored pantsuits holds me up.

Call me picky if you will, but I have some definite clothes purchasing standards. Pants must be low-rise, if not ultra-low rise. For years I wore the regular pants, but after abdominal surgery making my belly button especially sensitive (gnaw my clavicle all you wish, but don�t ever kiss my navel) and seeing pictures where my pants remind me of Pee Wee Herman�s, low rise is the only way to go.

As far as colors go, I stick with the basics for work: brown, black, white, and khaki. When I wear my baby blue button-up, I feel all risqu�, all footloose and fancy-free. It�s a good feeling, so I reserve it for days I wake up with a serious case of the blahs. I recently bought a pair of pin-striped trouser pants, and were I not wearing them with a plain white button-down, I�d feel too flashy. When Oz told me to wear something �wild and sexy� when I was to meet him, I wore a pink shirt with my jeans. Being a fashion pioneer is never anything I�ll be accused of.

Despite the financial affliction, the body type restriction, and my fashion conditions, I have a weakness: Old Navy is my Achilles Heel. Yesterday the sailor bit me on my cheap, round ass and wooed me with some low-rise, trouser-style, flat-front, short-length, bone-colored, perfect-in-every-way pants.

They�re low enough that the waist size is of no concern, yet they don�t yell, �She�s a skank-ho!� to my coworkers.

They snug my bum quite suitably, yet you wouldn�t see undies lines if I were to actually ever wear any.

They�re short enough in length that I can wear my slip-on flats to work, yet long enough to wear with my butt-kicking boots for after-5 p.m. fun.

They�re stylish yet conservative, flattering but not flashy, spectacular yet still skanktacular.

Oh lordy no -- Not just any pants!

These. Are. The. Perfect. Pants.

So I sucked it up and did the unthinkable: I paid full price.

These are my pants, and they�re worth the 3,402 pennies I spent on them.�