Santa brought me some pajama pants that look like blue jeans, and I wear them pretty much every night. Sometimes - mainly on the weekends - I wear them all day, too. I go out in public with them all the time, and usually nobody notices that they're pajama pants. Sometimes I even tuck my shirt into them, like so:
So last week when I went to the store late one night, I decided to just go in my jean jammies. Nobody would care. And if they did, I'd just give them a round house kick to the face in my bad boy jammies.
Although I wear my jammies all the time, the one thing that I've never noticed is that there's no way to keep the fly closed. There are no buttons, no zipper, no string, no velcro... nothing.
And on this particular night, I was wearing boxer shorts.
While at the store, I saw an item on the top shelf, and being the short stack that I am, I stood on my tippy toes, reaching towards the top shelf with both arms to get an item, when all of a sudden I noticed a draft. Down there. And by "down there" I mean my crotch.
When I had raised my arms, my shirt was lifted up slightly over my belly, leaving my fly exposed to the world. And low and behold, while my two hands grasped a large container of diet soda off the top shelf, my third arm was pointing at something on the second shelf that it apparently wanted really bad. I had no choice but to buy whatever I was unknowingly pointing at, which ended up being brownie bites.
It might have a mind of its own, but at least when it comes to food, we're on the same page.
The Existential Terror of Battle Royale
5 weeks ago