When you get home later that night, you remember the leather-latex pants. Recalling where they came from, you realize that it's probably not the best idea to keep them on, so you tug at them to get them off. They're stuck. You pull harder, but it's all in vain, as it seems that the pants have tightened themselves to the point where they simply won't come off your legs.
Not about to live out the rest of your life wearing the same pair of black leather pants every day, you get a pair of scissors in the hopes that you can cut yourself out. It takes an immense amount of effort, but you eventually manage to get one of the scissor blades under the wasteband of the pants and start cutting. Well, you try anyways. You chop at the leather, and it doesn't seem to take the slightest bit of damage. You chop harder, still nothing. You chop harder and the scissors break, leaving the pants completely undamaged.
As you fall back, completely dismayed at the fact that these pants are stuck to your legs, you fail to notice as the black tendrils of latex that had made them into leather slowly move upwards towards your shirt...