Notice that the tear begins at the belt and continues half way down the thigh.
I got out of the taxi and stood on a corner tucking my receipt away. A gentleman sidled up next to me and gave me the old up-and-down. This had the feeling of a touch (this is, after all, San Francisco), so I curtly nod back and scurry forward. The guy falls in behind me, matching my pace.
We met again at the next corner waiting for the light. Weak smiles exchanged. I pushed forward, he followed. Two blocks later he’s still there. I pass by a bar which is playing, I swear, Glenn Miller’s In the Mood. My kind of place.
I stood to peruse the bill o’ fare thinking of having a cold one and the guy is now forced to walk ahead of me, which he did. But only four or five paces, after which he searched his pockets until he found a piece of paper which so fascinated him he didn’t move. He stole a glance or two back at me.
Ahead, some bus or car honked loudly, and we both looked up. His attention was off me, so I slid around the corner, happy in my ruse. If he followed now, I figured, it would be too obvious.
He didn’t.
It wasn’t until about two hours later when I went to change that I noticed the gaping chasm and realized the gentleman was trying to find a polite way to tell me. What could he say? “Excuse me sir, you have a hole the size of the Grand Canyon on your posterior.”
You say “halfway down the thigh”. Doesn’t look like it would be anywhere near the thigh to me.
And the photo suggests that you where wearing nothing underneath.
You’ve chosen a caucasian flesh textured tiled floor to lay your pants down on. Why didn’t you put your boxers down inside the pants?
Rod,
You have too much time on your hands.
Briggs,
You’ve educated me so well these past couple of years that I now have a clearer mind and more free time.
It must have been one hell of a fart…
Maybe we need a code phrase to let people know about these things–say the oft used “wardrobe malfunction”. The passerby could quietly say “wardrobe malfunction” and alert the victim to the need to find a nearby restroom or secluded area and inspect one’s clothing. It’s probably less threatening than mentioning the Grand Canyon and one’s ass. 🙂
Caused by a p-value?
You’ve often said you’re a bit short of money so you’ll be wanting to have them mended.
It doesn’t look too bad. If they are roomy enough at the back the edges could be folded, ironed then stitched. If they need patching you could turn them into shorts and have plenty of material. Or maybe a bold contrasting seat panel in stonewash blue denim.
If you weren’t totally happy with the result they could still be worn on certain occasions depending on lighting or the floor plan of a venue for a speaking engagement.
Well folks, it looks like we have finally gotten to the bottom of the barrel…
It was San Francisco. He was just lonely.
Reminds me of when a “stylish” male co-worker wore some designer “French” pants with the zipper in the back to work one day.
Since it was in the 80s, before the full force of PC thinking had hit, another co-worker of scalliwag up-bringing referred to them as “Lucky Pierre” pants.
Briggs, how’s your French?