12-13-05 Spamalot?

And now for something completely different....

There is a good possibility that the mind can only accept so much grief...and then it...um...splits off.
And when this happens, suddenly everything is funny. That's a good thing. Right?

"The Story of the Pants" -(A tragedy in one act)

So, I'm at work on Monday after the third weekend of insanity. (see fractal to the left)
I'm wearing my typical Monday attire; a pair of black velvet slacks that I love because they're not tight but they look sleek, and a nice red and black sweater.
The pants zip up one side. Men do not understand why side zippers are a bad thing....thus we must accept that men created them.
The point of a side zipper is to make the front of the pants look smooth. No lines. No button or stitching. Furthermore, in a right-handed society, this zipper is on the left. Another not-well-thought-out engineering flaw.
Regardless, I love these pants. I've never had an issue with them. Until yesterday when they went astray. They turned to the dark side. The pants became criminally evil.

I drink a lot of coffee in the mornings. 2-4 cups. (foreshadowing)
Of course, this means that my bladder will likely begin seeking relief about an hour into my work day. This is quite normal in my routine. I sauntered off down the hall to our pretty, marble-floored, four-stall sanctuary.
And then it happened. The zipper stuck. It went down about 1/2 inch and then stopped.
It would not go up. It would not go down. I tugged. I pulled. I begged. My fingers hurt. The zipper key broke off in my hands.
My pants were holding me hostage.

Worse yet, I could not SEE the zipper because of the silly, contortionists angle one must attempt in order to work this left-side zipper. I could not see it because my left boob was in the way!

Now I was going insane.
What would be the solution? Could I break the zipper? Did I have a safety pin with which to fasten it back? Would my sweater cover the open fly??

Eventually I found that I was wholly defeated. I had no choice. I sulked back to my office, eyes floating in my head, resigned to an entire day of amazing bladder control.
I found that I get very angry and anxious when my bladder us full.
At about 3pm, after two sodas and lunch, I could take no more. I had tried three other times that day to coax that sadistic zipper down. Yet, it held.

I could not let it beat me.
I hid in the farthest stall. I summoned up all of my strength. I broke the zipper.
I broke it with finess though. I broke it slooooowwwwly.
I broke it only enough to schrug out of them for the necessary time.
Once my world had righted itself once again, I eased the evil slacks back over my hips where they HUNG. They hung a good 4 inches lower than they had before. I was stepping on the backs of them. The inseams was somewhere near my knees. And yet, I had won. I was free.

I went back to my desk and STAPLED the waistline back together.
I did not stand up for the remainder of the day.

Upon arriving home, I removed the pants. I did this by tearing that zipper entirely off. I then tore the pants at every seam. They lay now, inan unrecognizable heap in their final resting place. My garbage can.

So much for my favorite pants.
What the hell will I wear next Monday?