Monday, January 28, 2013
Short answer: heck yeah it is. Funny thing, it took me a while to recognize it as such, and then only after reading about Emma’s (emmaekay) Zumba adventures. She mentioned needing to Macgyver herself a new belt, and I thought about a time, long ago, when…well, let’s just set the scene, shall we?
Once upon a time, and a very good time it was, a moocow…wait, wrong story…it was a light and refreshing morning when our hero (me!) went to the gym. I remember it like it was yesterday, even though it was Saturday, a whole TWO days ago. I was wearing a well loved pair of sweatpants, so loved that I’d failed to replace the drawstring, which had fallen to the ravages of a washing machine a few months before. Owing perhaps to the shorts worn under the sweats, perhaps due to leaving my wallet in the car, no mishap occurred on the way to the gym. Afterwards, however, afterwards was a slightly different story. Unencumbered by gym shorts removed due to an incident with a water bottle’s wayward cap, and burdened by a wallet and phone in addition to the jingle jangle of my keys, the sweats had a looming date with gravity.
And this encounter would take place, not in the privacy of a vehicle, or within the safe walls of my domicile, but rather in public, at a grocery store. For, you see, I had need of a few sundry items. Of which sun dried raisins were one. In order to procure these items, I ventured directly from the gymnasium to the nearest Kroger store. As I set foot within its hallowed and marshmallowed halls (on sale for 99 cents!) I noticed the weight of the wallet, sadly a weight born not of monetary heft, tugging upon the elastic waistband, dragging it groundward.
It was, then, an entirely good thing that I only had need of those three or four items. It was less of a good thing that those items were widely spaced through the store, and I didn’t know where one of them was located, such that I had to wander a bit until finding a kindly aproned one who could guide my steps. For at each step, the waistband fell a few millimeters. After a dozen or so steps, millimeters were measured in inches. By the time I got to the end of an aisle, I had both hands in my coat pockets, trying to discretely return said waistband to its former heights. The discretionary movements weren’t always so elegantly performed; on occasion, direct action was required, with hopes that no one was looking.
Usually, people walk around with guts sucked in, a pretense at health. That day, the opposite applied, as the belly was pushed out in an effort to make the sweatpants behave.
Those ten minutes inside that grocery store were a hilarious torture. I felt grimy from the exercise, and grungy in those sweats, constantly wondering if anyone was looking at me, and internally laughing my butt off about the absurdity of the situation. I shouldn’t have worried at all, really, as it was a Saturday morning, and I was hardly the only one in sweats, hardly the only one looking as if they were dashing in for a quick pickup, uncaring about what the world thought of them. But hey, when your pants are falling down, you kinda can’t help but freak a bit, y’know?
But in retrospect…that’s a solid nsv right there, since these sweats didn’t previously have this problem. That offending waistband used to stay put, without necessitating hitching up. I’m not sure exactly where the pants misbehaved, as the tape measure professes no major differences below the belt since July. But, I’ll take it, and gladly so.