Yesterday, my favorite pair of blue-jeans died. I was over at a friend’s house with Nathan. He was sleepy, so I took him into a quiet room and bent over to secure him in his bouncy seat so he could take a nap. That’s when I heard it: the inevitable MOAN OF DEATH. You know exactly what it is when you hear it. You bend over and suddenly, your once trusted pair of jeans cannot take the strain and they just die. But they let you know they are dying with a loud, slow rrrrrrrriiiiiiip as the denim gives way to make room for your expanding butt. My pants ripped with such force and determination that they echoed. It’s as if my pants were like, hey lets not just rip, lets spew forth a MIGHTY RIP and ECHO and make this as embarrassing as possible so you will finally start dieting! Because, you know, when the sound of your pants ripping echoes throughout the room, you know you have bigger issues to deal with.
I was mortified. Not just because my favorite pair of jeans just died, and not even because I had no other pants to put on, but mainly because this death signified my butt was growing significantly larger. I started laughing so hard that I was crying.
“Is everything ok?” my friend yelled from the other room.
I couldn’t stop laughing. She came into the room and I showed her my plight. I could barely talk because because I was laughing so hard. Thank GOD this didn’t happen in public, right? I can just see myself in the grocery store or somewhere else where I can’t grab replacement pants from a rack, bending over to grab something off the bottom shelf with my butt in the air, and hearing that mortifying MOAN OF DEATH coming from the seat of my pants. I would have to walk out of the store with a gaping rip in my pants, and I wouldn’t be able to pull off the goth look because the only rip my pants have are in the butt, so everyone would think to themselves, look at her! Her butt is so big that her pants can no longer contain it! And I would have to pretend that I didn’t know what everyone was thinking while I scurried out, trying to keep my composure.
I’m thankful for the little things.
So my friend saw my pants and said, “Don’t worry! I have plenty of pants that will fit you!” Really? Seriously, you have pants that will fit this butt that other pants cannot contain? Oh, glorious day!
She gave me five pairs of pants. That means my butt has not one, not two, but five pairs of pants to rip through.
I’m going to start that diet.