Coffee And My Crotch
Add this to the list of embarrassing things I have done in my life. A coffee stain on my crotch. Not a little one, but a big one. I won’t bore you with how it got there, but I will acknowledge it.
I had hoped that it would have faded and gone away, but it didn’t happen. Now I am stuck wearing a pair of pants that look like I am a walking Rorschach test. Great, that is just great.
If I was single I might approach women and ask them what it looked like to them. Ok, I am exaggerating, I wouldn’t do that. In fact I have never done anything remotely like that, not now, not ever. And not even that one time at band camp either.
Can’t go home. This begs the question of do I wear it proudly or just pretend that it is not there. Or should I walk down the street and try to purchase a new pair of pants. It is a dilemma, a stain on my morning.
Well, I suppose that it could be worse. I do have stories that are far more embarrassing, but I don’t think that I’ll be sharing any of them right now.
Excuse me, I have to go slink behind a desk.