Stuck in my pants

For the record, I agree it’s a good idea to keep your pants on at work. I work in a fairly conservative place, and, although I’ve never read the dress code for dummies section of our employee handbook, I’m betting keep-your-pants-on is rule number two. Rule number one is you must wear undies, appropriate undies. Not sure what appropriate means, but I’m thankful not to be the undies enforcer. I think rule number three has to do with hairy toes and cleavage.

On a day-to-day basis, I happily keep my pants on at the office. But there’s a difference between happily keeping your pants on and being stuck. Did I mention I drink two 1 liter over-priced Figi waters a day?

Since drinking all that water has not shrunk my keester a single inch, I am devoted to my black pants. All women know there’s no color like black to make your jumbo butt look like a petite size 2. To my dismay, the only thing actually petite about me is my cleavage, and I'm not allowed to show that. See rule number three.

I tend to wear the same non-petite pair of black pants day-after-day, week-after-week, month-after-month, year-after-year, and decade-after-decade. You get the idea. You can only imagine how many wash cycles they have endured.

Apparently, one too many…

How do you win an argument with a zipper that’s NOT budging when you desperately have to pee?