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.
One time during a lull at work, some of my co-workers decided to see who was the superior standing long jumper. They stuck masking tape to the floor for the starting line and then we had to jump forward off of both feet at the same time.
My friend Brady proved to be the most athletic of the bunch, leaping 5 or 6 feet forward and impressing us all. (For the record, I was a better leg wrestler than him.) I was the last one to jump. I weighed around 350 at the point, so beating Brady wasn’t going to happen. Instead, I set my sights on leaping past the closest mark, about 2 feet from the starting line, where Sally (name changed to protect the innocent) had landed.
I was determined to not finish last. I leaned down dramatically, bent my knees and tried to catapult my short, stout body as far as it could possibly go off of the ground while using my arms to propel myself forward.
The good news?
I beat Sally. Barely, but I beat her.
The bad news?
While I reached to the carpet with both hands to stop my momentum and prevent myself from falling face-first into the hard floor, my tush rose above the rest of my body in the air like a stinkbug and … well … The Split Pants Formula followed the rules of nature.
At that moment, you could hear two things:
- The sound of laughter because of my silly leap.
- The loud popping sound of all of the thread between my zipper and the under seam of my pants bursting in unison. Turns out, my khaki pants weren’t designed to withstand that type of force and volume at once.
Thankfully, I remembered to wear undergarments that day. I’m also grateful I had a coat to wrap around my waist to avoid a potential indecent exposure charge while walking around the office and to the parking lot.
While that was a humorous situation, I remember feeling quite embarrassed — but trying to joke it off — after splitting my pants at a park during a Memorial Day party with my wife’s family a few years ago.
Sigh. My thunder thighs and Kardashian-approved buttocks just aren’t pants friendly.
Although I wasn’t excited to be in a dressing room at Walmart on Thursday morning, it was exciting to see how much progress I’ve made since I tried on the now-ruined jeans in a JcPenney dressing room months ago.
The ripped pants are a Size 54. Thanks to my much healthier ways, I was able to squeeze into Size 46 jeans. I opted to buy a cheaper pair of workout shorts (2XL instead of 3XL!) because I really don’t want to spend money on clothes that aren’t going to fit for much longer. That’s how confident I am that I’ll keep continuing to have success on my awesome health program.
Moral of this blog?
Only go to Walmart with split pants when nobody is there to take your photo — and, of course, always wear clean underwear.
This week’s weigh-in results: