No. Really. I apologize.
I apologize to anyone who was in the library yesterday between, say, 2 and 6 pm. I apologize to the people at Subway. I apologize to my neighbours. Really. I apologize.
Let me start by saying that I knew my pants were ripped. Really. I did. I ripped them the other day at Piper’s. It was a small little hole in the bum, and I wasn’t too worried about it, because I was wearing another pair of pants underneath them, it being cold at Piper’s and all. So yesterday when I put on my dangerous black cords I made sure to once again put on a pair of pants underneath them, grey leggings even.
Then I went to my Mum’s house and changed her sheets and did some laundry and hoisted a few boxes around.
“It’s too bad your pants are ripped,” my mother said. I’m not going to lie, I was a little surprised she noticed, me having just made a little snag there in the seat at Piper’s.
“Yeah,” I said, and I carried on my day, failing to recognize the ominous implications of her comment.
My day included spending about four hours in the university library. The printer wasn’t working, so much of those four hours, I’m not going to lie, involved me huffing between my computer and various printing stations, strolling back and forth across the library in varying degrees of irritation.
When I got home after picking up a late dinner for my family at Subway, my youngest daughter said, “there’s a hole in your pants.”
“I know,” I told her. “That’s why I am wearing another pair of pants underneath.”
“Those are pants?” she asked. “It looks like you’re wearing men’s underwear.”
I did a double-take. I did a double-take of my own butt, where it became clear that what may have been a little hole at Piper’s was now the entire seat ripped out of my cords. And those grey leggings underneath? Yeah… they did look like I was wandering around with my boyfriend’s underwear hanging out.
Dear people in the library: I assure you those were trousers and not my boyfriend’s underwear. He doesn’t let me wear his underwear. In public.
Really. He doesn’t. They were trousers.
I’ve been taking kind of the smug road up until now in my life. You know. I judge all of you people who are in the library and a) kiss your girlfriend/boyfriend/both b) talk on the phone c) listen to music so loud I have to listen to it, too d) play Bejeweled Blitz when all the computers are full and I am desperate for a computer so I can print off a paper three minutes before it’s due. But I confess that walking around with a gaping hole in my pants probably qualifies as a new low for inappropriate library/Subway behaviour.
I apologize, but do stay tuned for my next trick, when I actually do wear my boyfriend’s underwear out in public. Let’s face it, at this point, I’ve as good as nearly done it.