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| Babies never bring spare pants. They just expect everyone else to have a pair on hand - jerks. |
A few weeks ago Seattle had a heat wave. I mean, the sun was out, and it had to be at least 55 degrees. I got out my capri pants, you guys, and my friend and I went to Discovery park with her baby. Don't shake your head like that ins't picnic weather! If you have survived a Seattle winter, you know that is exactly what it was.
We had to hike to the beach so we could have our picnic. Picnic is a word which here means, "drinking beer out of red solo cups and eating chips and salsa." Obvi. It turns out that hiking with all your picnic supplies and a baby down to the Sound makes a person short of breath. Maybe even the person not carrying a baby. Nevertheless, I made it back to my car, unscathed. I should say, I almost made it unscathed.
Bad news: I fell.
I can tell you have questions. Let me answer them for you. Was I drunk? Not even a little bit. Did I trip over something? Just tripped on a paved trail over some... air. Are you okay? Other than skinning a knee- which I haven't done since I was about 8 1/2 years old- and ripping my capris, I'm fine. (Okay, we all know that part about not skinning a knee since grade school is a lie. I am clumsy, trip, and bust up protuberances all the time.)
It happened in a split second, but time stood still as my trick ankle betrayed me. As I lumbered to the pavement, I thought, "Am I seriously falling all the way to the ground right now? I hope this doesn't ruin my pedicure!" I did [fall all the way to the ground,] and it did [ruin my pedicure.]
That's one pair of pants ripped. A few weeks later I was doing the ol' squat-to-get-your-jeans-on dance, and damn if I didn't rip another pair of pants. As if tripping and falling over nothing isn't enough of an ego killer, I also had to split a pair of jeans that I no longer comfortably fit into. Hate it.
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| Tropical. |
We had to hike to the beach so we could have our picnic. Picnic is a word which here means, "drinking beer out of red solo cups and eating chips and salsa." Obvi. It turns out that hiking with all your picnic supplies and a baby down to the Sound makes a person short of breath. Maybe even the person not carrying a baby. Nevertheless, I made it back to my car, unscathed. I should say, I almost made it unscathed.
Bad news: I fell.
I can tell you have questions. Let me answer them for you. Was I drunk? Not even a little bit. Did I trip over something? Just tripped on a paved trail over some... air. Are you okay? Other than skinning a knee- which I haven't done since I was about 8 1/2 years old- and ripping my capris, I'm fine. (Okay, we all know that part about not skinning a knee since grade school is a lie. I am clumsy, trip, and bust up protuberances all the time.)
It happened in a split second, but time stood still as my trick ankle betrayed me. As I lumbered to the pavement, I thought, "Am I seriously falling all the way to the ground right now? I hope this doesn't ruin my pedicure!" I did [fall all the way to the ground,] and it did [ruin my pedicure.]
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| Now I will never be as awesome as Neil Patrick Harris. |
That's one pair of pants ripped. A few weeks later I was doing the ol' squat-to-get-your-jeans-on dance, and damn if I didn't rip another pair of pants. As if tripping and falling over nothing isn't enough of an ego killer, I also had to split a pair of jeans that I no longer comfortably fit into. Hate it.
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| Love this |
There are two things I hate about ripping multiple pairs of pants within a month. Number one: it reminds me of a crazy person I used to date who would only shop at thrift stores (that's not what made him crazy, but it really didn't help his cause.) One time he ripped a pair of thrift shop corduroys, and when I didn't understand why he was so heartbroken over a $3 pair of pants, he informed me, "Girl, it's not the pants I'm upset about; it's the cost of replacement!" I keep hearing his voice in my head as I begrudgingly acknowledge my ruined pants. I hate to say it, but he was right. It's not losing the pants that hurts the most- it's the cost of replacement. I've gotten cheaper in my old age, I'm afraid.
Okay, second thing I hate about this whole scenario: we learned in the opening statement of this blog entry that one should always bring a pair of spare pants. How am I ever supposed to bring a spare if I keep ripping through them?! I mean, you don't have to pee your pants to need some back up denim. As we all know, sometimes scabs come flying at you, which is another classic reason to have an extra set of slacks on hand.
What if you are a person who, for legitimate reasons, is low on pants? Life lesson #39, isn't really helpful to you. Now what? You should probably just stay home in your underwear and have a cupcake.
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| Yes, I know this is a vicious cycle. More cupcakes = more ripped pants. C'est la vie. |
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