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
• Walmart
• the bank
• the grocery store
• the YMCA
• the gas station

and not one person apparently took a gander at mah goods! While I was experiencing the flip side of "Hey, you've got a piece of spinach or something between your teeth," no one, in all those places, during all that time, cared to notice my holy grail in my holey pants! Seriously?! You could see where the sun don't shine through the opening I was (inadvertently) giving you! In fact, if you HAD looked, you damn well better have been done so through a hole in a paper plate. Not so much to protect your eyes, but to it to cover them so as not to see that, yeah, it's still a wee bit of a train wreck back there in the caboose department.

Perhaps peanut butter and I should rethink our relationship.