Critical Failure -- Your Pants Have Exploded
So it came to my attention late last night that my pants had a large rip in the ass area. And by "large" I would bring to the table such contextual representatives as the Grand Canyon, and the Great Wall of China. The major problem that I had with this problem was not the its discovery, but the realization that I had been wearing these particular pants... ALL DAY. At work, to the bank, to the local New Jersey Division of Taxation where I had to collect paperwork for TrailerMADE, out to dinner... you get the picture.
I had, unknowingly, given most of Cape May County a free look at my ass.
The most troubling thing I find in this situation is that until about 9:30 at night, when I bent over to clean out the litterbox and from Lauren rose the horrified cry of "My God, how long have you been wearing THOSE PANTS!?!", no one else said anything. Not one other human being had either the sense of mind, or perhaps the courage, to walk over to me and say, "Pardon me sir, but your ass is showing."
I figure that everyone either:
A.) Did not, in fact, see my ass.
or
B.) Felt that my case was so desperate that they could only feel some low level of pity normally reserved for the mentally unstable. "Aw, look at that poor young man, running around with his ass hanging out of his pants. No no, don't tell him dear, he probably wouldn't understand you anyway."
Either that or I was making some sort of fantastic fashion statement.
Good thing I was wearing underwear.
I had, unknowingly, given most of Cape May County a free look at my ass.
The most troubling thing I find in this situation is that until about 9:30 at night, when I bent over to clean out the litterbox and from Lauren rose the horrified cry of "My God, how long have you been wearing THOSE PANTS!?!", no one else said anything. Not one other human being had either the sense of mind, or perhaps the courage, to walk over to me and say, "Pardon me sir, but your ass is showing."
I figure that everyone either:
A.) Did not, in fact, see my ass.
or
B.) Felt that my case was so desperate that they could only feel some low level of pity normally reserved for the mentally unstable. "Aw, look at that poor young man, running around with his ass hanging out of his pants. No no, don't tell him dear, he probably wouldn't understand you anyway."
Either that or I was making some sort of fantastic fashion statement.
Good thing I was wearing underwear.