Thursday, May 14, 2009

Frickin' Frackin' Pants

It was a cooler morning the other day, so I decided to wear some jeans when I took the girls to school. Unfortunately, the jeans were not compliant with my wish.

Here's a little mental picture for you:

I pull the jeans out of the drawer. Look them over. Think, "They're not the most comfortable, but the comfy ones are in the wash, so they'll have to do." Stick legs in jeans. Hike jeans over hips. Button jeans, after inhaling deeply. Attempt to zip jeans. Again, attempt to zip jeans. Think, "I just need a better grip on the zipper. These things are so small." Suck in air like it's my last breath, grip zipper for all it's worth and yank. No dice. Look at zipper marks (read grievous indentations, bordering on bloody) on fingers. Shake head. Lie on bed, flat as possible, again attempt to zip jeans. Still no dice. Stand up, take of jeans, think, "I bet the zipper's broken." Zip jeans easily. Groan loudly. Start looking for a different pair of pants, muttering obscenities.

Frickin' frackin' jeans.

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