Yesterday, I had a bit of a scare. An unfamiliar car pulled into my driveway. I was, as usual, sitting at the computer. I had no idea who it could be; it was too late for the mail (our mail carrier drives a regular car around here), and I wasn't expecting anyone. So I dashed upstairs as fast as I could and spent the next 30 seconds frantically searching for my pants.
Yep, I am a bit of a pantsless wonder these days. They fit in the morning, but by the middle of the afternoon, my bloat is beating the battle of the waistband. So, like the nudist I have always been, I ditch the pants and spend the rest of the day wandering around sans pantalon.
By the time I got downstairs, chubby and straining at the snaps, the car was gone. It must have been using our driveway to turn around in. But, a word to the wise-- please, give me some advance notice before you come to my house. Otherwise you might see something that will fry your eyeballs as I streak by in my frantic dash to find my pants.
--originally published 7/8/06
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