The phrase "a pair of bare" is correct and usable in written English.
It can be used in contexts where you are describing two items that are uncovered or lacking covering, often referring to feet or skin.
Example: "After a long day at work, I love to come home and walk around the house in a pair of bare feet."
Alternatives: "two uncovered" or "a duo of exposed".
"Lose those flip-flops," to a pair of bare legs.
Immediately below are a pair of bare human legs, deep in the water, and the feet of a human baby, held close and safe above the turbulent scene.
But since anything can be a weapon - even a pair of bare hands, used skilfully - there's no conceivable end to the back-and-forth; we just invite terrorists to concoct new tactics.
Panicked, Mr. Dorfsman called Mr. Fasciano, whose work on the mural included a mahogany hand holding an egg (originally a knob for a well-disguised door) and a pair of bare feet, carved from pine, crushing a bunch of grapes.
Campbell, who stressed "I'm not perfect" despite her glamorous image, was wearing a Fashion for Relief fundraising T-shirt designed by Vivienne Westwood which features a pair of bare breasts.
A gloomy-looking young man wanders in and finds his concentration disrupted by various annoyances: a boy munching popcorn, a woman in heavy makeup cracking sunflower seeds, a pair of bare feet sticking over the seat next to him.
Witherow, incidentally, deserves simian congratulations for a remarkable hat trick: his beloved photos of skimpily-clad performers (preferably ballerinas, but dancing men and suitably posed female swimmers and gymnasts also qualify) appeared in the Times last week on three consecutive days, including a pair of bare-chested male hoofers on page 25 on post-Clarkson-sacking day.
And the set designer, John Culbert, avoids pictorialism altogether, ditching literal references to the show's bustling fairground and New England docks in favor of a pair of nearly bare curving platforms and an abstract backdrop of wooden slats.
It might be ok for my dogs head, but never a pair of dirty bare feet.
Mr. Robinson arrived with Las Vegas trappings: a band dressed in white, a pair of navel-baring dancers, three backup singers doing old Motown moves.
I wish I could say that I thought committing this wince-inducing truth to print would free me to age gracefully, much less daringly -- to accept my crow's feet and sagging muscle tone as signs of having endured, of having lived to tell the tale of life as I know it to those who come after me, like some massively wrinkled tribal woman with a pair of proudly bared drooping breasts.
