So not too long ago, I ripped a hole in my pants. A big one as you can from the picture below. It started out small, a little tearing sound, a little fabric parting along the side of the pocket (the horizontal rip in this picture). Then I sat down and it ripped a little more.
"Well, this sucks," I thought, seeing as how I was in the middle of Elephant's deli about to eat a sandwich. "But at least I'm wearing a long coat."
A discreet bum check assured me that the hole was not so big that I could not finish eating and do my errands before returning home where I would patch the tear and call it good. No big deal.
Then I stood up, and the pants ripped some more.
Still no big, right? I just needed to buy some more patches.
And then I stepped off the curb and the pants ripped all the way to the base of the pocket. Hell.
What you can't tell from the above picture is that those pants have a thirty-six inch inseam. They're long. The pockets are long. The rip is almost six inches, and the fabric was so weak it didn't seem worth the bother to try and repair them.
So what do you do with a pair of ripped pants? Turn them into an ode to Maureen Johnson and the Green brother's "in your pants" game, of course.
Thar be an Abundance of Katherines in my pants.
Whatever shall I tell my parents about this life-style choice?