i said 'cool, but i'm leavin' my pants on'

My youngest son brought this order form for spring pictures home from school early last week, and friends, I kid you not, I spent the better part of 30 minutes a day since last Tuesday staring at it, wondering why in the world the photography company was recommending the kids be sure to have pants on when Picture Day (the holiest of holy) arrived.

EVERY DAY!! Over my delicious bowl of high fiber cereal, I'd chew away on the fruits and flakes while staring at this sheet. "Of course they'll have pants on!" I'd say to no one. While paying bills, I'd uncover the form while punching numbers into the calculator and shake my head. "Do they seriously think kids are going to show up to school without pants on?" I'd cry, also still to no one.

Finally - FINALLY! - after almost a week of formulating scientific theories and losing sleep over this (it could happen), the reason this pants advisory was on there hit me. Eureka! "It's the pose, dummy!" you're all yelling. "Duh!"

Duh! If you want your kid to splay out like some sort of weird 1970s, 'Do you like my faux fur rug? It is very soft. Come. Lay down, won't you?" pose, pants are where it's at.

::forehead slap::

Good heaven. Seriously. I spent the equivalent of more than FOUR HOURS - though I'm going to round up and say six because it was slow around here over the weekend, which gave me ample opportunity to devote more time to my research - wondering about this! Criminals, are you in the market for a clueless witness? I'm your gal! You know what, geniuses of the world? You can clearly relax. I am no threat to you. Calm down, members of Mensa. I mean you no harm.

(I honestly had to Google 'Mensa' to be sure I had the name right because, well, hi, have you been reading this post? I didn't want to screw it up with 'Menses,' because that's an entirely different kettle of fish now, isn't it - and I interrupt this massive parenthetical outburst to inform you that Tool Man just said I'm like Rain Man smart when it comes to periods...bwahahaha, someone clearly knows the wrath of my mighty PMS sword! When I discovered I was right - back off, geniuses, you're still OK - I decided to take the organization's fun little brain workout and scored 19/30! Nineteen out of 30!! Sure, that's not a great grade - and OK, I cheated on a couple of the questions I got right, and I may have teared up at the math - but damn, people! That's edging pretty darn close to savant territory for the likes of this girl!)

Since unearthing this amazing mystery, I've spent the rest of my time walking around the house saying things like "Whoops! It seems I have forgotten to don pants today!" and "Is it breezy in here, or did I just forget to slip into slacks?" all to the annoyance of my family. Some of them were irritated that I was saying these things in a variety of poorly executed foreign accents. Others simply didn't approve of my use of the word 'slacks.'

Don't worry, though. I actually WAS wearing pants. Need I remind you, I'm not ENTIRELY stupid.

(ahem - 19 out of 30, beeches!)

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Speaking of pants, I'm going to the doctor tomorrow afternoon to get the lump in my breast checked, although I suppose if she has me take my pants off to check said lump, I'm going to hop down off the exam table and look into getting a new physician with a better grasp on anatomy. To say I'm not exactly looking forward to this visit would be an understatement. However, I'm doing everything in my power to pin down some of the courage I crave and that I spoke of in the above linked post and take this step. I'm also doing everything I can to believe that this lump is not something bad. It's just not...because I honestly don't want to imagine that it could be something bad. That's not to say those thoughts haven't tried to creep in. They have. They're sinister that way. I just, to paraphrase one of the Mensa brain workout questions, can't count my chickens before they're hatched.

Anyway, I'm finally going the doctor tomorrow, and at least that part of all the dark parts of my life will be crossed off my list (it will...it will...it will...). I wish my Tool Man was coming along, but apparently, he has to be out of town for work. I guess that's OK. I mean, there's not going to be any chickens to count when the appointment's done, right? Right.

Right.

Right...

So that's where I'll be, thanks in no small part to all of you who so kindly kicked my butt in that direction, which, come to think of it, maybe I will keep my pants off when I see the doctor. That way I can talk to her about the bruises you all left on my posterior. In the meantime, if you're inclined to toss up good thoughts, I'd be very willing to catch some pop flies.