Battle of the Bulge

In most countries, a crisis concerns someone dying, a natural disaster, war, ect. But no, here in America, many of us wake up everyday to a natural disaster in our own homes. With all due respect towards real crisis, I will now go on to talk about my own personal natural disaster/war with my pants.

Lately, my pants have been trying to let me know that they are unhappy with my food choices. They complain that I give them no respect as I stuff down Doritos, Reese’s Pieces, & my latish fetish, chocolate mint ice cream. They have begun to wage war on me by splitting not once in the crotch, but twice. I am blatantly ignoring their complaints by shutting them up with sewn in patches. I will not listen to you I say. I have not put on any extra weight and I refuse to acknowledge your complaints. They hit the final straw yesterday when I spent 8 hours outside gardening with them. I went inside to find they had cut my stomach to let me know that they were suffocating from the fat that was drooling over the edge of my pants. I have decided to teach them a lesson today by ignoring them and refusing to wear them. Ha! That will show them.

I started going through my closet to find another pair of pants. I tossed them left & right as they denied me the right to be worn. "If you refuse to wear one of us, you refuse to wear all of us," they cried. They are clearly rebelling against me by refusing to be zipped, refusing to be buttoned, & worst of all sucking up against by behind to give me pancake butt. I came to the end of my pants and sadly realized........there were no more pants left to try on. Slowly, I turned to survey the damage. The carnage was awful. Pants senselessly thrown across the bed, flung over the TV, lying lifelessly in piles on the floor. My poor dog Mysha, was pinned down on the floor by a pair thrown in her direction. My heart dropped at the scene.

In war, one side must eventually be conquered. I fear that I have lost this battle. I can't go walking around the world without pants. It just can't be done.

And then it came. It came in an overwhelming storm. I was at fault. I was to blame for this war. As I sat crying in my closet looking around at the senseless destruction, I cried out to my pants in passion, "I have been so blind! How could I have done this to you! So very very blind!" I promised them with courage and conviction that they would live again. "You will live again," I cried. "You will live again to walk, to run, to climb, to kneel, to play, to live. To truly live! This I promise you! You shall live again."

My pants having a tantrum.