I’m wearing leggings today. I know what you’re thinking. Molly? In leggings? But Molly hates leggings! Well, I do. I mean, I did. I mean…

I hate leggings as pants. In my opinion, leggings are NOT pants. Unless you are under the age of 12. It probably has to do with flashbacks from fourth grade, because any girl my age went through the leggings/big shirts/scrunch socks look. There may have also been sweatshirts with puff paint and mirrors on them. Oh, the humanity.

So as much as leggings bother me, I have to admit that every time I see a girl in a cute dress with leggings and flats I secretly want to wear them. But then I think, if I wear them, aren’t I going against what I stand for?

(OK, yes, I have a stance on leggings. So what.)

Over the course of the winter I bought some very cute, very summery dresses that I have been longing to wear every time I open my closet. The bright colors looked so inviting and happy in contrast to my dull winter wardrobe that I was so over. So when the weather took a turn for the better and finally brought us sun! and warmth! and happy!, I was determined to bust out the dresses.

Except there was one problem. The dresses leave both my arms and legs pretty bare and even though I have a very casual office, I didn’t think anyone wanted to be exposed to my see through whitey-white legs.

The internal struggle continued. Until Monday, when my friend Ashley walked into my cube and demanded I tell her the truth: did her cute skirt look ridiculous paired with leggings? No, it did not. And so I was convinced.

Later that afternoon with Ashley in tow, I walked into Marshalls (with blinders on because, shoes! Oh, the glorious shoe section!) and bought my very own pair of leggings.

The first night I left them in the car, to think it over. The next day I brought them in the house, but left them in the bag, just in case.

And today I put them on with my kicky and fun kelly green dress. I looked at myself in the mirror and thought, “I can do this. I look cute!”

I walked downstairs and as I rounded the corner, Michael took one look at me and said, “leggings? Really?”

I decided to take that comment as “I’m surprised you’re wearing leggings, given your very vocal opinion on them,” instead of “Wow, you look like an idiot. Please take those off.”

I still don’t know if I love them, but I certainly don’t hate them. At least not anymore.

Except if they’re worn as pants.

Because leggings are NOT pants.

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