No, not another self-pitying post about the loss of my cats.
It’s all about pants. My pants. My stupid pants.
If you’ve met me, you know I’m incredibly fashion-challenged. Love Tim Gunn, but if he met me, I’m certain it could be the death of him.
Today I’m wearing a henley sweater and gray pinstripe trousers. These pants are pretty darn new, by my standards, I bought them in August. I’ve only worn them a few times.
While walking to the train this morning, I noticed the hem on the left pant leg has FALLEN OUT. Fabulous. Now it’s dragging in the dirt, looking pretty darn sad. Four little safety pins I use at work to “mend” the pant leg likely fools NO ONE.
Around 3:00 p.m., it’s time for an afternoon trip to Starbucks for refreshing delicious yumminess. While waiting for my iced green tea soy latte, a woman nearby taps my arm and whispers… something.
“What?”
Psst… psst… psst….
“Excuse me?” (wondering what the heck she is WHISPERING for… what does she want?)
“You have a hole in your pants” (pointing)
Oh my! Well, at least I’m wearing clean underwear. Another safety pin back in my office kind of pulls it together on the side seam where they have split… but as I’m pulling them down to pin them, I hear another frightening ripping sound… don’t know where that came from.
see more puppies
Life of the Lintee Bean 