the atomic ass part deux
So, my brother has this annoying habit of ripping holes in the seats of his pants. He does this with alarming frequency and it's not like he walks around wearing painted-on jeans a la the Bee Gees, he's a typical teenage boy and all of his pants are of the extremely baggy variety. The thing is, his favorite chair in his bedroom, this old wicker contraption from approximately 1978 (no, really, it is), has all of these loose sharp edges that he keeps catching his pants on. And yet he continues to sit in it. Actually, he's home for the weekend and I can peek down the hall into his room and, yes, he's sitting in it right now. Now, since rips in the seats of people's pants is pretty much InstaHumor, the question becomes: why do I find this annoying? Especially since the embarrassing event is happening to my brother, and we all know that the humor of any situation is increased tenfold when said situation involves either (a) a sibling, (b) embarrassment, or (c) both.
The reason it's annoying is because I'm the one who always ends up sewing the pants. My mother has no sewing skillz and, mind you, neither do I, but I am not farsighted as she is and so I can thread the needle better, and so the sewing duties get tossed to me. For ages I've been harassing my brother about his Atomic Ass, which has yet to meet a pants material it cannot destroy. You know, just doing my sisterly duty.
And then today! Karma City! I was outside playing basketball with Emma at the family party (being the designated family babysitter often means that half of any family gathering is spent watching the younguns, which is alternately annoying [there's only so many times one can chase after runaway basketballs] and nice [five year olds rarely ask you how your boring temp job is going and, oh, when is it up and do you have any other plans?]) for a while this afternoon. We were horsing around, racing each other, trying to make baskets, etc. And then!! I grabbed the basketball and was dribbling around the basket, trying to do this fancy sideways-dive thingy and I heard this unmistakable, loud RIIIIPPP followed by the frightening sensation of a breeze in my pants. I froze in complete horror and then quickly recovered before I thought anyone would notice, thanking the Gods that I'd decided to wear my new long sweater-coat thingy so that my ass would not be hanging out for all to see for the rest of the day. I thought I was home free. But then!
Emma: What was that noise?
Me: (oh-so-innocently) What was what?
Emma: That noise! Did you rip your pants?
Me: What? No! Of course not!
Emma: Yes you did! (makes move to lift the Ass Obscuring Sweater)
Me: Hey! Stop! No I didn't! I -- Ok! I did! Look! (Points to different, ages old, small rip in leg of jeans to distract her)
Emma: No, that's not it! Here! (Moves toward AOS again)
Me: Hey! Hey hey hey!
And then there was a twenty second interlude where I spun around and she chased after me, trying to lift up the sweater until she finally did.
Emma: There! See?
Me: Dammit.
Except I didn't swear, at least not out loud, because I'm a well-trained babysitter by now.
No one noticed, thank God, due to the grace of the Ass Obscuring Sweater and, also, my cousin's silence (how she kept her mouth shut, I'll never know. I had horrible visions of her running into the house and screaming "JESSIE RIPPED A HOLE IN HER PANTS, COME SEE!" and then chasing me around the backyard trying to lift my sweater up). But let this be a lesson to you: do not mock others for ripping their pants for the same fate could befall you, even if you, like I was, are not wearing super-tight Bee Gees-esque jeans (though they were mad old and on their last legs). And always, always, have an Ass Obscuring Sweater on hand.
The reason it's annoying is because I'm the one who always ends up sewing the pants. My mother has no sewing skillz and, mind you, neither do I, but I am not farsighted as she is and so I can thread the needle better, and so the sewing duties get tossed to me. For ages I've been harassing my brother about his Atomic Ass, which has yet to meet a pants material it cannot destroy. You know, just doing my sisterly duty.
And then today! Karma City! I was outside playing basketball with Emma at the family party (being the designated family babysitter often means that half of any family gathering is spent watching the younguns, which is alternately annoying [there's only so many times one can chase after runaway basketballs] and nice [five year olds rarely ask you how your boring temp job is going and, oh, when is it up and do you have any other plans?]) for a while this afternoon. We were horsing around, racing each other, trying to make baskets, etc. And then!! I grabbed the basketball and was dribbling around the basket, trying to do this fancy sideways-dive thingy and I heard this unmistakable, loud RIIIIPPP followed by the frightening sensation of a breeze in my pants. I froze in complete horror and then quickly recovered before I thought anyone would notice, thanking the Gods that I'd decided to wear my new long sweater-coat thingy so that my ass would not be hanging out for all to see for the rest of the day. I thought I was home free. But then!
Emma: What was that noise?
Me: (oh-so-innocently) What was what?
Emma: That noise! Did you rip your pants?
Me: What? No! Of course not!
Emma: Yes you did! (makes move to lift the Ass Obscuring Sweater)
Me: Hey! Stop! No I didn't! I -- Ok! I did! Look! (Points to different, ages old, small rip in leg of jeans to distract her)
Emma: No, that's not it! Here! (Moves toward AOS again)
Me: Hey! Hey hey hey!
And then there was a twenty second interlude where I spun around and she chased after me, trying to lift up the sweater until she finally did.
Emma: There! See?
Me: Dammit.
Except I didn't swear, at least not out loud, because I'm a well-trained babysitter by now.
No one noticed, thank God, due to the grace of the Ass Obscuring Sweater and, also, my cousin's silence (how she kept her mouth shut, I'll never know. I had horrible visions of her running into the house and screaming "JESSIE RIPPED A HOLE IN HER PANTS, COME SEE!" and then chasing me around the backyard trying to lift my sweater up). But let this be a lesson to you: do not mock others for ripping their pants for the same fate could befall you, even if you, like I was, are not wearing super-tight Bee Gees-esque jeans (though they were mad old and on their last legs). And always, always, have an Ass Obscuring Sweater on hand.