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.

Maybe I've somehow gained weight in only that vicinity, rendering me literally too sexy for my pants.

Perhaps another fly could be inserted. (Introducing the Old Navy Utility Fly: 100% more fly than the leading competitor!)
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.
.
You may also enjoy:
If not, may you suffer an even more unfortunate wardrobe malfunction.
“Get my Godzilla on.”
Clearly, this phrase must now enter into my vocabulary.
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Absolutely. Bonus points if you can mimic the roar.
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Hey at least you were wearing pants in the first place. Lesser men would have been in sweats. George Costanza, for one.
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Yeah, well, my suit made entirely of velvet is at the cleaners right now, so I figured I’d settle for jeans until I get it back.
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I thought you were going to say once you put your pants on you make gold records.
Reference to needing more cowbell, in case you don’t follow my twisted mind.
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Oh, I’m fully on board. That’s where I pulled it from. If you’re a cowbell enthusiast, you may also enjoy this: https://twinfamy.com/2011/06/06/dont-fear-the-teether/
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Welcome to the club. Since we got Just Dance, I’ve gone through 3 pairs.
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At least I’m in good company. Maybe it’s best to dance pantsless, you know, strictly to conserve clothing longevity.
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I’m glad to hear that you were not going Commando. As for being too sexy for your pants, I think that requires a ruling from the wife.
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“Hey, Babe. Wake up.”
“What are you doing? I’m taking a nap.”
“Am I too sexy for my pants?”
“Huh?”
“My pants. Am I too sexy for them?”
“Probably. Sure. Whatever.”
“I KNEW it! Thanks, Babe!”
Mission accomplished.
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I am in a generous frame of mind, so I will allow that evidence to be submitted. Thanks for not going into specific details.
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Oh, it didn’t occur to me to get details.
Hmm…
No, I’d better let her sleep.
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Indeed he IS too sexy for his pants ;)
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See? There you go. Straight from the wife’s mouth. It must be true because she’s always right.
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OMG. You hooked me with “Fatherhood of the Unraveling Pants” title and then kept me with the hilarity of your post. I laughed so hard my husband actually stopped watching his soccer game to see what was up. You had him laughing, too. You have style, sir.
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Thanks so much for reading, and welcome aboard! I hope your husband didn’t miss any good plays on my account.
Just kidding. Nothing is more important than reading this blog.
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Hmm Maybe its time for some non jean-pleated fronts ;-)
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I’m actually thinking I might switch to togas. It could inspire more respect in the Twins over the years. Seems the toga would command more authority than a torn crotch.
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Atleast you woke up and put pants on! I don’t usually do that until the wife comes home from work at 5pm.
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Haha! If you go that long, why put them on at all?
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They usually come off later that night anyway! So you are right what’s the point.
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Reblogged this on Wild American Dream and commented:
No, I’m not just posting this because I have nothing better to post…This made me laugh my pants off. Except mine are still in one piece.
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Thanks so much for sharing!
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Wait until they start walking – I gained weight at first, now after 2 years chasing after my son, I’ve lost 40 pounds!
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That sounds pretty darn good. I like the part about not having to go to the gym or do anything I wouldn’t do otherwise. That’s the best kind of weight loss.
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I have a Y membership, but find that sometimes i use it just to have a rest. I can’t imagine how worn out I’d be if I had twins. I’m sure that in the long run weight loss is good, but since I’m not working right now, I’m down to just two pairs of pants that fit me!
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Yeah, I’ve done all right at maintaining the waistline since they were born. I find sleep deprivation burns calories like a charm. You could try that.
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I love this blog title! Just because I happen to be a Traveling Pants book fan. (^_^) Very clever!
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Hehe, thanks. Made me chuckle when I thought of it. Couldn’t resist.
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Reminds me of all the times Joshua head-butted Jon in the groin. How do you explain to a little kid still in diapers that they aren’t supposed to touch other people in the “diaper region”?!
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Yeah, that’s a tough one. I haven’t figured it out myself. I taken many a hit to the Crown Jewels. Some day they’ll understand. In the meantime, maybe I should wear a cup.
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