Ages ago, when I was in regular public school, my kindergarten classmates were a highly creative bunch. They shunned your typical playground taunts and instead developed highly interesting, personalized methods of teasing for one another. Since I was fairly popular at that age, not too many of them dared tease me. But they did come up with a poem, one that has stayed with me all these years:

Heather Feather,

how’s the weather,

in that tight hot leather?

    Needless to say, I was not a member of Hell’s Toddlers, so I didn’t come into class wearing leather of any sort. But they seemed to think it was funny, so that sing-songy poem followed me everywhere. I think it may have had an adverse and unexpected reaction, because as long as I can remember I’ve wanted a leather jacket and matching leather pants.

    I’m a good little Mormon girl, whatever would I want a leather outfit for? I’m not particularly fond of motorcycles or biker gangs, I don’t really want to look like a tart, I just think certain kinds of leather look lovely. I distinctly remember seeing a beautiful woman in Italy when I was twelve, walking around in these gorgeous black leather pants and a perfect white silk blouse. She looked fabulously stylish, and as a chubby pre-teen I idolized her. I wanted to look just like her when I grew up, only shaped a bit more like Jayne Mansfield.

    I have to say, I’m pretty chuffed that I got relatively close to my Jayne Mansfield wish. The only downside to this is that it’s been wholly disappointing trying to find a jacket to fit a Mansfieldesque frame. I just didn’t think they existed and I was forever doomed to be on the outside looking in on a stylish Emma Peel inspired world of cowhide.

    That is, until last week when I stopped by Wilsons Leather in my local mall. They were having a 50% off sale, so I thought, hey, maybe I can find a funny purse or something. But lo and behold, I stumbled across the perfect specimen of a black leather jacket. It wasn’t the least bit bikerish, but it was black, it was rouched in the front, and best of all, it fit! It didn’t hide my curves, I could zip it up all the way, and it was only $100. In the immortal words of Cole Porter, “so in love…”

    I tried to take some pictures of my new jacket so I could show it off and be all proud of myself. Well, I’m a bit too proud, and have been threatened by several male friends in regard to posting said pictures online. So in lieu of my photos, I present this model in my jacket courtesy of WilsonsLeather.com – check it out. Isn’t it pretty? It was worth the waiting, the idolizing, the dreaming of leather since the age of 5. I got the shape I wanted, I got the jacket I wanted, so what does that leave?

    That’s right, the leather pants. But what am I to do? I’m so conflicted; leather pants are a big step, they’re a big commitment. Or rather, would I be commited if I bought leather pants? Would I suddenly look like a tart and/or a biker chick? Would I be treading on dangerous, suggestive ground? Or would I accomplish my prepubescent dream of being like that stylish Italian woman of yesteryear, sashaying through downtown Rome with the confidence that she looks drop dead gorgeous (emphasis on the ‘drop dead’)?

    The Wilson’s Leather in Tysons Corner has these pants in my size and they’re holding them for me. They’re $100. They’d make me look like a curvy Emma Peel. Or would that be a bad thing? Opinions, please, cause I’ve been debating this for a week and I’m no closer to an answer. Should I, or should I not, make the prophesy of a bunch of kindergarteners come true?