You know that saying ¨We all put our pants on one leg at a time¨? It's supposed to promote the idea that no matter our differences as humans at least we all have this one thing in common. This one ridiculously mundane thing that we all have the ability to do.
Are you aware, however, that there exists a certain percentage of the population for whom this task presents some unique challenges? I know! Its shocking right? Who in the world cannot manage this process?
*Slowly raises hand*
Apparently when it comes to getting dressed I still have some things to learn. Today was a complete fail for me in the putting on pants department. Here's how it went down...
I was staring at the clock and attempting to do math. I should have known right then and there that nothing good was going to follow. I needed to run to Target. I also had to pick my kids up from school. Did I have enough time to do both of these things? In addition, I needed to shower. God, I was feeling ambitious!
So ten minutes of debating with myself later I decided I could have it all!
Cue Narrator: ¨Little did she know where her poor decision making skills were about to lead her...¨
So I jumped in the shower and was out in record time. Score one for me. (Spoiler...the score ends up being Me: 1 Life: 7,509)
I patted myself dry-ish and picked up the leggings I was previously wearing. Since I was in such a rush I obviously wanted to get dressed and out the door quickly. My legs were still a little damp but I stepped into my leggings...one leg at a time, mind you...and started to pull them up. Here's the chain of events that followed:
Get leggings over feet and up to ankles.
Realize I'm still a pretty damp person.
Decide it's too late to turn back now and continue to try and pull leggings further up legs.
Immediately regret decision.
Know I am in too deep but press on hoping things will turn around.
Reach the tipping point. The literal tipping point. As in...I start to fall over.
See my life flash before my eyes as the spandex claws of death wrap themselves ever tighter around my calves.
Foolishly hop around bathroom for a few seconds before realizing resistance is futile and succumb to my fate.
Hit ground. Angrily cry out. Actually cry.
Rip pants off in fit of rage and frustration.
Sit pantless on the floor, exhausted and out of breath and begin questioning all of my life decisions thus far.
Realize that I am currently 10 minutes further behind schedule than if I had just allowed my legs to fully dry.
Wonder why I'm like this.
So there it is. My brush with death due to pants. Ok, maybe that’s a little dramatic but those clingy little muthas were definitely the reason I didn’t make it to Target and that’s pretty depressing. Anyway, the important lesson and overall takeaway from the whole story should really be:
For a happier life stay home and avoid pants whenever possible.
