I Broke My Pants

June 13, 2018.Reading time 5 minutes.

We’ve all heard the expression, truth is better than fiction. When you blog, the two are often woven together with neither being the predominant thread. I’ve been known to stretch the blanket from time to time to suit comedic purpose. Sometimes what could have happened is funnier than what actually happened; so we just go with that.

I was going to forgo posting this week. When you’re seeking high art like I am, you can’t force it. That would be like a five-year-old going to the bathroom just before a trip. “I didn’t have to go then!”

Nothing felt right so I didn’t write… and then life happened.

My pants broke.

In and of itself, this isn’t very funny. But the comedy of life is all about timing. Of course one’s pants do not break while one is at home or when one is in the car a few miles away. No, cosmic forces conspire against zippers to break at the least opportune time and in front of the most people.

I happened to be at work last night preparing for an important board meeting. Being a coffee drinker over fifty years old, I thought it prudent to seek porcelain relief before the meeting to avoid interruption. It was there that I discovered why a zipper is called a fly in common vernacular because the minute I touched mine it flew into a million pieces. Yes, my pants exploded twenty-five minutes before a meeting of the board of directors.

I surveyed my options:

Safety pins. These proved ineffective in patching the devastation and impossible to fasten without help. It did not feel appropriate to seek help with my zipper.
Skip the meeting. Bad option.
Go FIFO – first in, first out. No one sees the gaping hole in my crotch.
Hold my pants closed like a batter between pitches. Seemed too edgy.
Replace the pants and arrive late but fashionable.

After sharing the dilemma with two very empathetic coworkers, I left them in puddles of laughter as I scootched out the door holding tightly the remnants of my pants.

CURSE YOU, Atlanta traffic!

Two miles to Steinmart during rush hour. After ten minutes, I scootched into the store. Of course it was crowded. Of course they all pointed and laughed as I arrived. I quickly found a pair my size and for the first time in my life didn’t even check the price. Of course I interrupted an employee meeting outside the dressing room.

As I explained my dilemma to the cashier, the young man made a valiant attempt to stifle his laughter as I pulled the tags off my butt for him to scan. I have to give him credit. He tried. I didn’t bother with the receipt and I dropped the tattered threads I had worn to work that morning in the trash.

I’m sure the eruption of laughter inside the store was equal to or greater than the sound of my pants exploding in the bathroom just twenty minutes prior. I don’t care… I was headed back to the meeting without a giant hole in my trousers.

CURSE YOU, Atlanta traffic!

I walked back in at 6:29! I made it. I saw the sardonic grins of people as they checked out my new pants. The word had obviously spread. But I don’t mind.

I declare victory over the Universe’s perverse sense of humor… this time. But I’m sure it will strike again. Maybe I should keep a spare pair of pants in my office.

A Whole Lot of Underwear

May 24, 2017.Reading time 4 minutes.

What is the genesis of underwear? When did this start? Sure, if you happen to be wearing a suit of armor, I understand the need of a layer of clothing to protect the skin from chaffing. But besides the knight, who needed it? And why is it considered a mandatory article of clothing today?

I’ve been having a little trouble sleeping lately and it is amazing the questions plague the mind at 2 am. Fortunately, I haven’t hit the Home Shopping Channel phase where mystery packages begin showing up at the door, but the history of my internet browser weaves a strange and remarkable story. While I can’t tell you when or why underwear came about, I can brief you as to why I got on a kick about it.

My credit card got stolen.

It’s happened to us all. Random charges appear on the bill or we get a phone call from the issuer. The last time it happened to me the trail was obvious – gas a mile from where it was stolen, a few biscuits at the drive-through window next door, and then a major charge attempt two miles north at Home Depot – who denied it. The thief made it about three miles testing the card before it became worthless.

In this case, the card got stolen digitally and I am guessing they didn’t have the super-secret three-digit code on the back. Rather than test the card with some minor purchases, this guy went for broke with a charge of $434.42 at Hanes.com. And after I dealt with customer service, I chuckled and wondered what that kind of purchase would be.

I perused Hanes.com and it turns out that crook must have needed an entire undergarment makeover because you can get a whole lot of underwear for $434.42!

But then, since it is 2 am, the mind drifts into wondering all kinds of things about $434.42 worth of underwear. What would the shipping cost? Would that be assorted colors? What that might have gotten you 100 years ago?

So you find underwear advertisements throughout time like this:

Or this (my wife is looking into BVD’s if they will improve my dance style)

And what the heck are they selling here?

You could even have helped the Army out and gotten 789 surplus drawers!

Oh, the 70’s were such a confusing time.

I didn’t prove anything, but got sleepy and went to bed. As I lay there, part of me felt sorry for the crook with the empty drawers drawer while mine is full. Tomorrow he would have to wake up and put on stretched out, saggy drawers that in no way would help him dance, wrestle, or pose jauntily. Poor dude.

But I know myself. And I know that I would give a fellow human in need the drawers off my backside. So I stopped feeling bad for him. Maybe if he asked, or better yet got a job instead of stealing my credit card, he too, could enjoy the freedom of a fresh, clean pair of drawers.