I fully acknowledge that there are a few circumstances that can only point to one thing: I'm turning into an old lady. One of them happened yesterday.
I went to church with my pants on backwards. No two ways about it, that is a disturbing turn of events.
So after church, I went into the bathroom to pull my hair back, because it was driving me crazy. As I was positioned in front of the mirror reaching up to brush my hair, I happened to glance down and see two patch pockets on the front of my pants.
The realization of what I'd done went through me like an electric shock, in light of the fact that I'd just been out in public, mingling with lots and lots of people who, despite their good Sunday intentions, definitely check out what you're wearing every week.
Fortunately, these were sort of legging-like pants that I'd worn under a longish top. I racked my brain to remember if I'd done any significant reaching upward during church, and not being the spiritually-demonstrative type, reached the conclusion that I hadn't. Thank God for small favors.
When I discovered my faux pas, I let out a little horrified squeak that my husband heard from where he stood in the adjacent closet.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
The overwhelming temptation was to lie. But he'd caught me still in that vulnerable state of alarm where you can't think on your feet, and I told him what I'd discovered. Naturally, he thought it was hilarious, in much the same way I think it's hilarious that he's always hitting his head on stuff because his eyes are so deep set. Only I get the opportunity more often, so he really took advantage of this situation to thoroughly and profoundly enjoy the moment.
Once he'd calmed down, I tried to exact a promise from him that he wouldn't tell anyone. He protested, of course, reminding me that it was really funny... as if that would further his case.
"No!" I said firmly, and he acquiesed. Then I tried to put a positive spin on it by saying I was actually kind of proud my recent work-out efforts had reduced my rump to the extent that I could actually get my pants on backwards. But it wasn't all that convincing.
A few hours had passed when my sister and niece came for a visit. After some tea and lots of homey, fireside chatting, I let down my defenses and told them. They laughed with an undisguished lack of sensitivity and unbridled glee. And, though I was prepared for embarrassment, what I felt was fulfillment!
That's when I realized for the millionth time that I get a huge kick out of making people laugh.... with me OR at me. But let me put a finer point on that: I like being laughed at when I CHOOSE to be -- not by an entire congregation of people who've caught me with my pants down... or backwards, as the case may be.
So, in light of that bit of self awareness, I present the story to you, here, in this public forum, after the fact. Pretty darn funny, huh?
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