Fatherhood of the Unraveling Pants
I put my pants on in the morning just like all non-nudists (or Donald-Duck-like cartoon characters)–one leg at a time. Except once my pants are on, I chase little people for 14 hours.
However, for a rare moment, my son was engrossed in reading/eating The Tale of Peter Rabbit and my daughter had her puppy-dog eyes in full force, shaking the five-shades-of-pink Lego bag as if to say, “Daddy, build me a Disney Princess castle so I can get my Godzilla on,” so I decided to seize the opportunity to actually sit, take a breather, and play with my daughter rather than chase whoever decided to go on the lam (as if I were Mary’s Little Lamb).
“Sure, Baby Girl. Let’s play Legos.”
But as I joined her on the floor, I overheard something sounding remarkably like the tearing of fabric and detected a cool draft in a discreet body location.
No, it can’t be, I thought. Sure, I’d put on a few pounds since my wife’s pregnancy, as happens with many men when their wives suddenly become less mobile, but I’m proud to say I only added two inches to my waistline, and now that the kids can literally run, constant Twin-herding is getting me back down to fighting weight.
Or so I thought.
Because staring up at me from my nether region was my most unfortunate wardrobe malfunction to date.
Once the initial horror wore off, I realized this was a worn, older pair of jeans, with threadbare patches in several other places. In fact, I’d consciously chosen the ratty ones that morning since the Twins are getting over The Most Gnarly Stomach Bug I’ve Ever Seen, and the forecast was partly runny with a chance of digestive showers.
For a moment, I wasn’t even going to bother changing. I’m not leaving the house today, anyway.
I then noticed my daughter was pointing at the tear, which she often does now at the sight of out-of-the-ordinary phenomena. (Relax, O Hyperconservative Loyal Reader, I was wearing boxers. She didn’t see The Crown Jewels.)
“Yep, that’s right, Baby Girl,” I conceded. “Daddy made a hole in his pants. Don’t tell Mommy because she’ll bust on Daddy all night.”
But then the finger started moving.
Towards the hole.
I sprung to my feet, thus avoiding utter catastrophe. Yeah, I’d better go change.
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Posted on April 3, 2012, in Family, Humor, Hyperreality, Parenting, SAHD, Stay At Home Dad, Twins and tagged Beatrix Potter, cartoon, chase, daughter, Disney, Disney Princess, Donald Duck, FAIL, family, father of twins, fighting weight, fly (zipper), Godzilla, I put my pants on like everyone--one leg at a time, I'm Too Sexy, Lego, Mary Had a Little Lamb, nether region, new parent, non-nudist, nudist, O Hyperconservative Loyal Reader, O Loyal Reader, Old Navy Utility Fly, pregnancy, puppy-dog eyes, Right Said Fred, SAHD, Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, stomach bug, The Crown Jewels, The Most Gnarly Stomach Bug I've Ever Seen, The Tale of Peter Rabbit, twin-herding, Twincidents, twins, wardrobe malfunction, weight gain, wife. Bookmark the permalink. 31 Comments.