Thursday, April 14, 2011

Oh Damn...I Ripped My Pants

Have you ever noticed that when you rip your pants it never happens at a “good” time?  Never will this occur when you are home alone within easy distance of another pair of pants.  Nope, if it happens at home, it will be with a roomful of guests playing Dance Dance Revolution.  You’ll obviously be the one in the front, closest to the television; everyone else behind you has a clear view of your arse. You, of course, won’t know that a major fracture has occurred in your pants as you get your groove.  And naturally, you’d also be wearing your worst granny panties.  Or you’ll be rushing to important job interview, doing what you can to calm your nerves and psyche yourself up to brilliantly answer questions.  Your pants won’t rip while you wait.  The pants will rip just after you shake your interviewer’s hand and sit down.  The unmistakable sound of overworked fabric ripping fills the room.  Time stands still. 

I actually had my pants rip doing an educational outreach at my former job.  It was an animal show.  And for the record, I was pretty damn good at those shows.  The children were enthralled.  I was discussing hibernation and I bent down to give the group of second graders a better look at the ornate box turtle in my hand and….RRRRRRRIP.  I knew what had happened immediately, but what do you do? The show must go one.  Learning doesn’t wait for a new pair of pants.  I continued the show and did the best maneuvering known to man to hide the gaping hole in the backside of my pants.  The school had booked five, back to back shows that day.  The pants ripping happened during the first show.  I sidestepped and spun in ass hiding moves through each of those shows, but I did it.  And when it was all said and done, I left that school and treated myself to a dipped cone from Dairy Queen.  Because clearly consuming more calories is the best way to avoid another precarious ripping pants situation.

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