So it sounds like some sort of fancy lingerie, but alas, no.
Not all couplings are predictable. A good thing, sometimes. Other times, not so. Burton and Taylor - jury's still out on that one and the widow of the former might be a little bitterly twisted for it to be suggested that such a coupling was nigh on perfect.
Digression, an art belonging to those less frugal with time.
As I was saying, couplings aren't always predictable. MC Hammer had his own pair, but his wardrobe pairing have little to do with this titling duet.
I'm hoping you haven't expired by this dreary, verbal facade but my puff-pants do not refer to something you hang up in your closet or fold up in a drawer. This introduction is as laboured as my breathing, on my first appointment with my personal trainer, Janet.
Who'd have thought I'd have joined the gym where the young and lithe, pump and grind in such a way that it bears little resemblance to actual exercise. It's positively primeval.
Now a middle-aged, slightly rotund body is an altogether different vision to behold. This body is not watched nor envied, but it is a jolly good body with a good beating heart and good for sucky-in breaths (which are well needed in an exercise pit). Anyway, it's my body and this body has somehow found its way back to the gym. Not quite sure how, but here it is, presented in all its padded glory to the lovely Janet.
I'm not sure quite how she's going to do it, but I have faith in my well-toned, and friendly PT.
Rapport and gossip will get me to return.
A puffing I will go, a panting I will go ... hey ho, the merrio, off to the gym I go.
P.S. And a puff of good luck to Janet that one day I might just be able to fit into those pants which when recently chosen for attire resembled more a tourniquet than a garment.
