Today something horrible happened. Seriously horrible. I don't know what percentage of the female race has been party to this sort of catastrophe but recent polls done scientifically by me asking women in my office show that this has happened to 100% of women. With such a high victimization rate you would expect that someone would have talked about it, come to some sort of solution, SOMETHING.
Why, oh why does the the thigh rip out of your pants at the most inopportune moment so that you will be both embarrassed and distraught over your thigh skin showing through a rip in your pants. I mean really. Oh sure, it's no problem to have your inner thigh exposed to your clients. It is totally fine.
So there I was chatting and having a root beer float with the dear Realtors on the deck upstairs when a small gust of wind sent a napkin floating into the air. Unsuspecting of any sort of thread integrity problem I bent to retrieve it and the whole patio was just silent enough for me to hear the resounding tear. Of my pants. Awesome. No seriously, I like it.
I love that now there is a piece of masking tape scraping the crap out of my leg as a temporary fix to the permanent problem of my pants that are now junk.
Now I need to start an offering for my new charity, "The fat girls' foundation for fraying knickers". Imagine donating to that with your PFD. Pick. Click. Give! I know I would. I feel you sisters, I feel you.
I mean my phone is a computer and denim still wears out. I need more my pants to be more scientific. Much more scientific and borg-y.
Welcome to my life fraught with sadness. Welcome to the denim disaster diaries. Any condolence would be deeply appreciated,.
Totally shoulda used duct tape.
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