in the "you kind of had to be there, but i'm glad you weren't" category.... it's almost impossible to relay this anecdote in an amusing manner since it was so completely feckin' ridiculous in the first place...
siv and i were about to go out and do a photoshoot for our favorite lil' italian magazine, when i pulled the worst move ever in the pants department.
backstory: i have this great brown pair of banana republic button fly pants that used to fit jusssst barely, and that i totally screwed up by keeping the dryer heat up to high one hungover morning. they used to be a 30 waist and now they're more like 28s. a tailor would probably toss me in a pair of 31s.
so i decide i'm gonna try and fit in them one more time. for the good of the team. they actually go on rather easy, so i figure i'm in the clear.
oh but as we start driving around it becomes very, very apparent this was a horrible idea. the entire idea was, shall we say, pants. waistlines are being redefined. my legs are so constrained by this thin layer of brown denim that the threat of them hulking out at any moment hangs ripe in the air.
we're at def con 9 in the too-tight pants alert.
i'm circling around aimlessly in one of the parking lots downtown, trying to think of someplace i can change into my nice comfy corderoys, and eventually i break down and decide to just change in the feckin' parking lot.
oh by the way, did i mention i wasn't wearing any boxers? oh come on! how else was i gonna fit into these things!
now i've got my boxers and cords handy, but it's the middle of the day and this is going to take some quick and clever orchestration. that and siv's in the car and looks like a curious puppy with her ears pricked up in anticipation of getting me into a humiliating and compromising situation. my personal personal hell is now downloading...please wait...
backstory 2: a few weeks back siv did a photoshoot where for some reason she brought this lil' toy guitar into our car. you press buttons and it emits stupid songs until you smash it to tiny bits.
a few minutes later the personal hell is downloaded and i'm making a break for it. button one is unsnapped, followed by the others in a chain reaction of buttons and resettling internal organs. i pause for just a moment before entering point-of-no-return zone.
what follows is a calamity of action. just as my hands grab the waist of the pants in an effort to pull down, my foot hits the guitar, buried under my change of clothes, and the toy begins to emit the entertainer in it's chipper quasi-midi bleeps and bloops
BADA-DA_DADA, DADA, DADA!!!
point of no return is breached.
BA DADA DADADADA, DADA DA!
siv is cracking up in the passenger seat, i'm trying not to laugh while getting out of what's essentially a dry wet suit, and meanwhile look out for any incoming people / vehicles / meter maids, etc. turning and twisting to check out additional vantage points only causes siv to laugh louder, and additionally causes me to cue up row row row your boat on my musical accompanyment while i get the boxers and cords on.
i hate my life :]
siv and i were about to go out and do a photoshoot for our favorite lil' italian magazine, when i pulled the worst move ever in the pants department.
backstory: i have this great brown pair of banana republic button fly pants that used to fit jusssst barely, and that i totally screwed up by keeping the dryer heat up to high one hungover morning. they used to be a 30 waist and now they're more like 28s. a tailor would probably toss me in a pair of 31s.
so i decide i'm gonna try and fit in them one more time. for the good of the team. they actually go on rather easy, so i figure i'm in the clear.
oh but as we start driving around it becomes very, very apparent this was a horrible idea. the entire idea was, shall we say, pants. waistlines are being redefined. my legs are so constrained by this thin layer of brown denim that the threat of them hulking out at any moment hangs ripe in the air.
we're at def con 9 in the too-tight pants alert.
i'm circling around aimlessly in one of the parking lots downtown, trying to think of someplace i can change into my nice comfy corderoys, and eventually i break down and decide to just change in the feckin' parking lot.
oh by the way, did i mention i wasn't wearing any boxers? oh come on! how else was i gonna fit into these things!
now i've got my boxers and cords handy, but it's the middle of the day and this is going to take some quick and clever orchestration. that and siv's in the car and looks like a curious puppy with her ears pricked up in anticipation of getting me into a humiliating and compromising situation. my personal personal hell is now downloading...please wait...
backstory 2: a few weeks back siv did a photoshoot where for some reason she brought this lil' toy guitar into our car. you press buttons and it emits stupid songs until you smash it to tiny bits.
a few minutes later the personal hell is downloaded and i'm making a break for it. button one is unsnapped, followed by the others in a chain reaction of buttons and resettling internal organs. i pause for just a moment before entering point-of-no-return zone.
what follows is a calamity of action. just as my hands grab the waist of the pants in an effort to pull down, my foot hits the guitar, buried under my change of clothes, and the toy begins to emit the entertainer in it's chipper quasi-midi bleeps and bloops
BADA-DA_DADA, DADA, DADA!!!
point of no return is breached.
BA DADA DADADADA, DADA DA!
siv is cracking up in the passenger seat, i'm trying not to laugh while getting out of what's essentially a dry wet suit, and meanwhile look out for any incoming people / vehicles / meter maids, etc. turning and twisting to check out additional vantage points only causes siv to laugh louder, and additionally causes me to cue up row row row your boat on my musical accompanyment while i get the boxers and cords on.
i hate my life :]
VIEW 11 of 11 COMMENTS
i've already wandered in and started pretending to know whats going on.
thanks for the heads up by the way- i had no idea siv even even knew i existed, let alone know me wll enough to give the seal of approval.
I shall go and say nice things to her, as soon as i think of somthing that isnt blatantly sycophantic or so tiresome that she falls off her chair and ends up in the farthest reaches of outer space.
...because that would be rubbish.