January 5th, 2005

Dog Balls

I could be a cigarette mascot

When my mom was here for Christmas, I had her mend a loosened seam in one of my favorite pairs of pants that had resulted in a hole just a few inches below the fly. Mom zipped it up no problem with a quick flick of the sewing machine.

Yesterday, I wore those pants to work for the first time since the mending. The day is moving along swimmingly when I notice one of my co-workers keeps staring at my crotch while I'm talking to her. I look down and brush off my lap, thinking maybe there was a crumb or something there, but she's still staring. The kind of stare where you can tell she's trying to look away but just can't stop.

I head to the bathroom and take a look in the mirror. The thread my mother had used to mend the hole was just sliiiiiightly darker than the material of the pants, thus giving the visual effect of a crippling cameltoe. Like no-underwear-on, full-frontal-wedgie, Molly-Shannon-skit cameltoe.

Mickey asked me if I went back and explained it to her and I didn't. There's a small part of me that gets a sense of philanthropic joy out of knowing I have given this girl such a great story to tell her friends.

And what could be worse than if I was wrong? ya know how you were staring at my crotch before? I don't have a cameltoe, really. It's an optical illusion from the thread color in the seam. Oh? You weren't? ... well, it's like when you get a wedgie in the front ... because it looks like one kind of...ok, well, I was just checkin'. Didn't want you to think that or anything.
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