Consider this a warning: It’s possible I will be featured on the cringe-worthy “People of Walmart” website in the near future.
No, I wasn’t strutting around the produce section in a tutu or a French bikini. I only do that in the home and gardening section.
My potentially embarrassing outfit at America’s favorite corner mom and pop megastore happened because of a physics equation.
Force + resistance x debilitated matter = fissuring
You can call it The Split Pants Formula.
After dropping my Africa-bound wife and two oldest kids off at the airport on Thursday morning, I was supposed to go into work quickly and then take my car for a service appointment.
The loud RIIIIIIP sound coming from my nether regions forced me to change plans. I was too far away from home to change pants, so I headed to the nearest Walmart for a shopping spree. I’m sure I was a sight to behold, walking with my legs tightly pressed together while pushing a cart to shield my ripped pants from plain view. Fortunately, the jeans tore low enough so as to not expose my whitey-tighties to the world. Sorry, creepers.
This is not my first experience with ripped pants.