Editor’s note: For the sake of keeping the running time of my weekly Sunday missives as close to 5 minutes as possible, this multi-thought musing has been split up into two parts. While each part has some entertainment and/or philosophical value by itself, they truly need to be read as a whole. It is recommended to read part 1, Death By Hangnail, first. Alternatively, for your convenience, you can enjoy one continuous “Full Version” here.
Thought #3: Pants Epidemic Tonight!
Before going any further, it would probably be helpful for you to know that there’s a song called “Dance Epidemic” by one of my favorite bands, Electric Six. Ah, now the title of this thought makes more sense, no? And for your viewing pleasure, I’ve even included a music video some fanboy made for it with footage courtesy of an old Star Trek episode. Please, take a moment to enjoy before reading on…
Now, on with the story.
First, I need to briefly remind you of my previous unsolicited life advice to “[not] believe in fate–it’s your life, write your own script!”
It seems that some cosmic force was listening, and decided that It needed to respond with Its own form of “you best know your roll, boy!”1This was one of the dumbest things that I heard repeatedly in high school. But if you went to high school with me, most certainly you’ll remember some jackass or another using this as their catchphrase. Also, the more I think about, I can’t help but wonder if that actually has incredibly racist connotations…
“J.K. Kidding! ‘Write your own script’–hah!” says 2020. “Isn’t that cute? You and your ‘plans.’ Pfft! To those of you who think you can be the captain of your own destiny ship, I say:”
Say hello to my little friend, COVID-19, all y’all control freaks and over-planners!
2020, who is turning out to be a proper asshole, if i must say so myself
How could this post go any where but to the source of our current collective trauma? My apologies if you were hoping I would be providing respite from such existential threats.
So far, I have been fortunate enough to only be affected by the corona virus in–you guessed it–asinine ways.
For example, right about the time that North Carolina’s shelter-in-place order went into effect, I was tasked with my first of many supply runs. At that point in time, the prevailing (and, as I said at the time, incredibly naive) thought was that 3-weeks’ of supplies would suffice to see a family through this ordeal. So my goal was to get that much feed for the livestock in my household, without becoming just another vector for this stupid pandemic.
In hopes of minimizing my contact with other peoples, I purposely set out on my adventure shortly after the previously 24-hour grocery stores opened at 7 in the morning.
Though the weather didn’t exactly call for it, I wore a long sleeve flannel shirt, long socks, and a pair of blue jeans–blue to compliment my blue latex gloves, of course.
I had recalled the Boss Lady pointing out that belts were an often overlooked potential source of transmission, so I thought maybe I would just forego such an accessory for the day’s expedition. Just tuck in my shirt and I would be fine, right?
Nope. Part of the problem was that, in order to prevent me accidentally being the source of contamination–remember, I spend half my week working in a large hospital–I didn’t want to wear one of my usual pairs of blue jeans. Instead, I grabbed the first pair that I could find in my jean drawer.
Well…turns out I’ve lost more weight than I realized since I had last worn those pants.
It wasn’t a minor issue of being comfortable, either. The whole time I was on the verge of a serious wardrobe malfunction. This kind of defeated the purpose of all my hygienic precautions, as I spent most of my time hitching up my pants before they fell to the ground. Touching my pants…touching grocery store items and fixtures…touching my pants…touching my pants…picking up a box of a sugary cereal…thinking the better of it and putting said box of cereal back on the shelf…touching my pants…tucking in my shirt…pushing the grocery cart…touching my pants…
And so it went. I had hitched up my britches so many dang times that by time I had returned home, I had actually ripped that belt loop completely off.
Then, as I was making multiple trips bringing in the Chlorox-wiped groceries in from the car, the Boss Lady pointed out that instead of recontaminating everything, why don’t I just go put some shorts on. And not a moment too soon! Right as I walked into our laundry room, the waistband of my jeans gave one last sigh and then gave up the ghost.
“Vwoop!” and just like that my pants were on the floor, taking my boxers with them.
So I had essentially been a mere two paces away from providing our elderly neighbors with a free all-male revue, replete with full-frontal and full-rear nudity. Thank g0d for wives with common sense ideas like “just put some ----- shorts on already,” amiright?
Thought #4: In Her Pants…
In high school, I have a random memory of overhearing one of my female classmates making the comment that she had “gained weight, but hadn’t the chance to go shopping in awhile.”
If you want an example of what kind of outside-the-box thinker I am, my first thought was, “Wow, I didn’t realize that walking around the mall was an effective weight-management technique for high school girls! It must be a more vigorous, calorie-burning exercise than I realized…”
Admittedly, this interpretation baffled me a little bit, and it took me a beat or two to realize what the two parts of her comment actually had to do with each other.
Of course, any normal person with “common sense” would have known that she meant that she hadn’t had the chance to buy clothes that fit better since her change in weight.
I’m not sure why that little pointless vignette has stuck with me all these years, but it has.
Perhaps I somehow knew that one day, years down the road, it would be just the nugget of a tale I would need to really tie a pandemic-themed blog post together.
Now here am, two decades later, and I find myself in her pants.
Wait, that clever of twist of words didn’t turn out like I had planned for it to. It’s supposed to be a play on “I find myself in her shoes.”
But instead it sounds like I’m partaking in some extra-marital coital activities. I assure that is not the case.
Anyways, with a potential apocalypse bearing down on us, a pithy thought couldn’t help but wander through mind:
What if I finally get my shit together and lose all this weight, but fail to have gone clothes-shopping in a timely manner…and then society collapses?
So while I should be focusing on finding ways to meet the basic needs of my family such as providing food, shelter, protection, clean butts, and potable water, I’ll be spending my time stuck in a post-apocalyptic world not battling existential threats like every other bougie Joe-Schmoe, but instead a much more stupid pair of enemies: sagging britches and perpetual plumber’s crack.
I can see it now: on the run from imminent danger with my family in tow and trying to navigate some rough terrain, I pause to hike up my pants. However, I’m too close to a cliff, and accidentally lose my balance…dying in the dumbest, dumbest way imaginable in the process.
Like I said earlier, there’s only one way this oh-so-slightly-off-kilter life of mine is going to end:
“You’ve got to be ----- kidding me.”
*moment of reflection as my life flashes before my eyes in the form of a series of long-winded blog posts*
“Of course.“
The point of the story is, preparing for the worst and hoping for the best is good advice, but it doesn’t exactly cover all your bases.2…are belong to us! Though seemingly improbable, don’t forget to prepare for the best case scenario, too.
If not, you might just get caught with your pants down. And the only excuse for dying that way is autoerotic asphyxiation. But I digress…
[expand title=”Bonus: The Original, Not As Good, Ending: (click to expand!)”]
The point of the story is: please send me any donations of any old suspenders or belts you can spare. Maybe–just maybe–with your help, I’ll be spared such an inevitable, ignoble and undignified death after all.
If it helps, just think of this as one of those legendary Sarah McLachlan commercials.3Image source: https://me.me/i/hi-im-sarah-mclachlan-and-im-about-to-ruin-your-f3e85959db8147a5b97cecc2f5fbcb5a You know…
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Content created on: 17/18/25 April 2020 (Fri/Sat/Sat).
Footnotes & References:
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