Pantsoffski

I should choose the right pair of pants.

You see, wearing the right pair of pants is an integral part of comfort, especially when traveling to a new place. I can't control weather conditions, or social conditions, or a number of other factors. But I can control which pants I wear. I have always been against sweatpants because of their promiscuity. Also, for some reason, I have this conviction that no one should be that comfortable in public--the comfort afforded by sweatpants, pajama pants or mesh shorts. I practice the same policy. So, keeping this in mind, I chose the perfect pair of pants: a brownish pair of cargo pants, thin and loose enough to be comfortable, but stiff and fitting enough to be acceptable on-the-town wear. The problem: a few small holes around the cargo pockets, exposing the larger pocket at my side.

When I was seated, I looked down at my pants and saw the hole on the cargo pocket glaring back at me. "Mik," I asked, "do you think these pants are too promiscuous?" He gave me one of those priceless Mik looks that made me feel stupid. "What do you mean?" he asked in his exasperated tone. "I mean this hole. If my pocket moves out of the way, you can see my boxers." "No, it's fine." "Ok."

So later, Jack came over because we were all going out to lunch before cs-ing. When we were leaving the house, Jack followed me out the door and said, "Hey man, uh, I can see your underwear." I said, "It's just a little hole. Mik said it wasn't a big deal," appealing to Mik's perceptive authority and offering the cargo pocket hole as evidence.

"No, man, I can see your underwear. You have a big hole in the back of your pants."

Sure enough, there was no seam holding my pants together. I felt back there. Aside from the feel of a different fabric, I could instinctively feel the blue heart-patterned peering from behind the incomplete brown shroud. I was embarrassed, and the prevailing sound (above my groans) was that of laughter. I changed my pants, but the damage was already done.

Regardless of how I tried to avoid it, I was Mr. Promiscuous Pants that day. But it's always this way: I always try to plan things down to the last contingency, but it never works. Instead of trusting God to provide for me, I decide to micromanage. And once again, in my efforts to avoid discomfort and embarrassment, I only end up more uncomfortable and embarrassed.

Oh well..