Office Mishaps- I Tore My Pants

Way back in the annals of time old Ann Stacey remarked that while I am not clumsy I am most certainly not the definition of grace. It is a fair assessment. I have a body that was built for demolition and hard labor. The only time you’ll hear my name alongside of Baryshnikov is if you read this sentence out loud.

I tore my pants today. If my life were a sitcom it would have happened while tying my shoe or bending over to pick up a paper clip. It is not hard to picture, I’d bend over and a loud tearing noise would emanate from the seat of my pants.

Since I don’t embarrass all that easily I’d stand up and waltz on out to the car, thankful that I wore a pair of clean boxers.

But my life is not a sitcom. In this particular instance the right pocket on my slacks reached out and latched onto my chair. Who knew that the two of them had such a torrid love affair going on. I’m a believer in love and challenging relationships.

Had they asked for my help I would have gladly found a way for the two of them to spend time together. Instead they tried to sneak around behind my back and tragedy struck.

Now there is a large gash running along the right side of my pants leg. If these were jeans I might be able to say that it is intentional. It might even be considered fashionable. But these aren’t jeans and I am not Beau Brummel.

I am tempted to use the various desk accoutrement’s to pierce various parts of my body. I can use a paper clip to pierce my ears, take the scissors and stapler to engage in some sort of nifty body modification. If I can find a mirror I’ll use the marker to create a really cool tattoo across my chest and maybe, just maybe the gash in my pants will look like it belongs.

Or maybe I’ll casually get up and walk on out the door. I’ll keep going until I reach my car, ignoring the tremendous breeze running up and down my leg. That breeze is not really all that refreshing. In fact it makes me want to yell “There was shrinkage!” Did I get the Seinfeld reference down? Does it matter.

All I know is that somehow I wrecked a good pair of pants. Maybe I should have stayed in bed today, or maybe I should call Julie and see if she can help me find a tailor.

And now if you’ll excuse me it is time to take the walk of shame. 😉

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