So how is it that you are supposed to start a story? Not a cutsy "once apon a time" story, but the, "you had to be there" kind. Oh yeah, I remember. "No shit. There I was..." (Yes, this is that kind of a story)
Anyway, so, no shit, there I was, sitting in the outfield of my son's kickball game. I'm hoping to avoid the fire ants while still getting some good shots of his team playing. It's
about halfway through the first inning when I hear it.
RRRRRIIIIPPPPPPPPP.
I carefully reach back from my squat to feel my pants. Whew. I guess I must have imagined it. No rip there.
About ten minutes later, I squat down to get a good action shot and I hear it again. This time it's a quiet rip. Once again, I feel my jeans (hoping all the while that I don't look like I"m picking my ass out here) Wheew. Still good.
Not long after, I shift and definetely hear it. RRRIIIPPP! This time, I feel a breeze. Oh, no. I'm out here in the middle of a kickball field and my underwear is hanging out of my pants that just tore. (at least I'm wearing clean underwear!)
And I reach back....oooohhhh there it is. A nice sized gash along the inside edge of the pocket. (which happen to be one of my oldest and most loved jeans)
not a problem. I can tie my jacket around my waist and nobody will notice. It's not THAT cold out here.
To make a long story short (HW is making waffles and keeps yelling for me to hurry up) I tore them AGAIN. Sigh. My favorite jeans. They were my first size 8 jeans that I ever got into. I remember being so proud to have lost the weight and sigh. They are gone. Oh well, I can squeeze into a 6 now, but my 8s were my feel good jeans....they don't feel so good now. oh well. At least I didnt' have 20 3 year olds see my underwear."