Some Days are Better than Others

A Warning: This post starts with some weird fashion and shopping talk. Suffer through it. Because the end involves slapstick humor and my complete embarrassment. Carry on.

A few weeks ago, I went shopping. I desperately needed jeans. You know, ones that would stay up without a belt and had no paint on them. I really wanted good jeans. Jeans that I could wear with high heeled boots or strappy sandals and nice tops. Jeans that are like denim trousers. (Trouser, by the way is kinda a ridiculous word. I'm just sayin'. Say it a few times. Trousers. Trooouuuuussssseeerrrs. See. Or maybe I'm tired. Who knows?)

I went to my go-to store and found nothing. Which sucked. Then I went to the store where I never find anything I like, but inexplicably keep going there. I saw these jeans on a rack there. Dark, with cuffs and sort of lightweight. I pulled them off the rack and saw an elastic inset in the back and put them back. Because, see, in my world, only old ladies wear elastic waisted jeans. Yes, nearly every other pair of pants I have happen to include some elastic, but not jeans. NOT JEANS!

But, as I was putting them back, I saw that they were sailor fronted jeans. Man, I love sailor pants. Especially sailor jeans. I've included a picture for those who don't know or care about sailor pants. Anyway, I've wanted a pair for years. Years. I don't know why. I have never even found a pair to try on, though. I don't know if it's the sort of thing that people don't think big girls should wear or what.

So, I tried them on. And then I fell in love. For a couple of reasons. In the first place, they are sooo the sort of thing that a big girl should wear because they have a nice flat front with no zipper placket to pucker your shirt. Secondly, they rock. That is all.

I bought them. I had trepidations about the elastic waist and the fact that they were coming from this store that I hate, but they happened to be 70% off, so it's not like I was out a lot. I was very excited to wear them the first time. I got twenty bazillion compliments. Or two. But there's only two people in my office, so that's still good.

Anyway, when I got home at the end of the day, I bent over to put up the baby gate and BROKE all three buttons on one side. Notice that I didn't say that I popped the buttons. No, I broke them. They had these large covered buttons and the backs just popped off. I had people coming over and no other plan for an outfit so I safety pinned them up and went with it.

Today, I was desperate. So, I wore the safety pinned pants. I should have known better.

At 12:45, my boss and I realized that we hadn't even considered the possibility of lunch. So, she offered to drive her huge, monstrous truck to Subway. When we got there she parked straddling a line and taking up two parking spaces. I was all prepared to just keep my mouth shut, but then she asked and I had to tell her that she was smack in the middle. She backed up and moved over into one space.

Then, she asked again. I couldn't see, because it's seriously a HUGE truck. So, I opened the door a little. And there was the stupid running board. Big, shiny chrome running board. So, I leaned over. And felt it. Three buttons. Snapping in half. On my side.

"Ow." I didn't actually mean to say anything, but I was totally surprised and taken off guard.

"Are you okay?" I'd like to take this opportunity to point out that I injure myself at work approximately once a day. We only have fire doors in my office. I don't know why. Anyway, I run into the door frames (not like face first, just like clipping my elbow) and rip off huge hunks of skin. Today, I wacked my hand into the copier and pulled off a strip of hand skin that looked like a snake just wriggled out of it. I also turn over my chair, pull down the box pile on my head and hit my head on my desk while trying to pull things out from under it. Ow is my default reaction to these things. Never has she expressed any interest. But, here I am in her monster truck from Mars and she wants to know if I'm okay.

"Yeah. Well, not really. All my buttons just broke." I pulled up my fist full of buttons and put them on the dashboard. "I don't guess you have any safety pins?"

We looked through about seven tiny miniature First Aid Kits that she has stashed away. I would say that she must be paranoid, except that in addition to the fact that none of them contained safety pins, I can tell you that I also didn't see a single solitary Band-Aid, so maybe not.

Luckily, the Subway we were going to was located in a gas station. I ever so carefully climbed out of the truck and walked very calmly into the gas station. Holding my pants up. Which had overpriced safety pins. Which I purchased. With my credit card. Meaning that I had to sign the slip left handed. Did I mention it was my right side.

So, my pants now have 6, count them 6 safety pins holding them up. And nothing else. But prayers. I'm telling you this now, at 10:46 p.m. because I'm about to take them off and can no longer be pantsed. Thank you.