Black slacks.

For the past few years, Mom has been on me every fall to get a nice pair of black slacks. So, I’ve purchased a nice pair of black slacks.

Needless to say, I have several pairs now. 

Once I’ve gotten the black slacks, she’s gotten on me about getting the slacks shortened. I hate that part, so I’d never get around to it. One-quarter of my closet was nothing but unshortened black slacks.

Not being a fashionista, I would simply roll up the cuffs and be done with it. But that doesn’t cut the mustard with Mom. She’s a snappy dresser. I’m somewhat of a slob. We’ve been clashing over the way I dress since I was old enough to voice an opinion. I simply would refuse to wear a dress unless I absolutely had to — like to school or church. 

People would ask me why Mom was so adamant about me getting black slacks. For one thing, I’d tell them, I gave up wearing dresses quite some time ago. And for another, she wanted me to have a nice black outfit “in case something happens.”

“In case something happens” is her polite way of saying, “In case someone dies.” 

And that always has been the deal breaker. Somewhat superstitious, I’ve honestly been afraid to get the slacks shortened for fear that action would serve as a catalyst, setting into motion the death of someone I love.

An irrational fear, I know, but a fear just the same. Surely you have your own irrational fears. Eventually, spring would come around, and she’d drop it. 

This fall hasn’t been any different. Around September, she’ll start to get on me about the black slacks. I’ll tell her I already have black slacks. But she’ll insist I get a new pair.  

Throwing in a twist, she also insisted this year that I get a nice black sweater to go with my new black slacks.

Fine, I told her. In addition to a new pair of black slacks, I’d look for a black sweater. Of course, I had no intention of getting a black sweater because that would increase the intensity of my irrational fear.

But on my birthday, I had no choice. She was insistent we stop somewhere and pick up a black sweater. My defenses down, I finally agreed. I have added not one but two black sweaters to my wardrobe.

Now I have the complete outfit — black socks, black shoes, black slacks, black sweater, “cute” black T-shirt to wear under the black sweater. Maybe I should also invest in a pair of black underwear, too ... 

And against my better judgement, I finally gave in on getting the black slacks — along with about a dozen other pairs of slacks — shortened.

I knew as soon as I did it, I’d be sorry. I just knew it. The “something else” happened Oct. 28.

Here it is, a week after undergoing a biopsy, Mom gets the news that her melanoma has returned. After more than a dozen years in remission, the cancer has reared its ugly head once again.

Of course, these past several years have been a gift. Mom’s doctors consider her to be a miracle. They never thought she would survive the first bout or the three or four recurrences that followed.

She’s always been a fighter. Before the cancer, she’d had one of her knees replaced. After the cancer, she had a hip replaced. She amazes me. Tiring easily these days, she continues to do as much as she possibly can, from playing bridge to cleaning the house to going to lunch or dinner with friends.

Now she’s going to have to put everything she’s got into battling this latest bout of melanoma. And as crazy as it seems, I knew I should never have given in on getting those slacks shortened.

Damn black slacks.

• Deb Saine is a columnist for the Pharos-Tribune. She can be reached through the newspaper at ptnews@pharostribune.com