i finally have concrete evidence no one is checking out my ass
Twelve hours after putting on my pants today, I discovered a hole in the seat. A tiny hole, you ask? No. This was a gaping wound that tore apart the harmonious union forged in fabric once enjoyed by the two parts of my sensible pants.
(forgive me for what follows...)
This was definitely a hole near the a...OK, I can't...
My discovery is disheartening because until recently, this is a pair of pants my ass couldn't fit into for a long time, a pair I recently reunited with in a victory dance brought on by months of squats and a bitter breakup with peanut butter (note to peanut butter - I know you're still out there, I know you still love me, but cool it with the overt attempts to get me back, m'kay?).
Butt (har har) do you want to know the real reason I'm torn up by this tear? I visited the following highly populated areas during the 12 hours the pants were on my body:
- my son's middle school
- my place of employment
- the bank
- the grocery store
- the YMCA
- the gas station
Perhaps peanut butter and I should rethink our relationship.