The Pessimist

I know I’m something of a pessimist. At one time, I took great pride in my pessimism and wore it like a badge of honor. As I got older though, I started trying to see things in another, less dark and gloomy light.

I found out I haven’t completely shed my pessimistic skin. I know I’ve mentioned my many, many, many (Police Academy, anyone?) wardrobe malfunctions. These malfunctions have made me paranoid about my pants. Paranoid to the point that anyone looking at me with a considering expression makes me sweat and wonder if I’m flashing my underwear at the world.

Saturday I was at a convenience store wearing a pair of capris that are a little worn. I was pretty sure they’d survive the trip to town and thought nothing of it. Until I was in line and glanced over my shoulder to see a man standing behind me staring at my ass. My heart froze.

Oh my God, my pants are ripped. Again!!

Hysteria wasn’t far away, trust me. I hopped back in my car and drove to my aunt’s house but she wasn’t home. The punk. What could I do? I still had a lot of errands to run and the drive back home would’ve cost me half an hour. So I pulled up my big girl panties—thank God—and went to the nearest store. I pulled my big T-shirt down as far as it would go and set off to buy the furry fiends their food.

Then I saw a bathroom. I raced inside, made sure no one was in any of the stalls and did the slow-oh-my-god turn in front of the mirrors. No rips, no tears, no strange goo I might have sat in. There was nothing wrong with my capris.

The pessimist in me was confused, but the optimist I’m trying to become won out by saying, “That dude was totally checking out your ass!” To be sure, I had to do another turn in front of the mirrors. You know, just in case it was a disappearing, reappearing tear. Nope. Nothing there.

Did that stop me from buying iron on patches for all of my jeans? No. My paranoia won’t allow me to think I can escape the jean-ripping phenomenon for very long. So now nearly all of my jeans are sporting patches and I feel relatively safe. Except I still have to check to make sure there are no rips.

Pessimism and paranoia…not the best mixture.


Filed under humor

7 responses to “The Pessimist

  1. Oh my word. That’s funny. I, too, would have thought I had something on my bum or a rip or something. LOL!!!!!! You’re right about the pessimism and paranoia not being the best mixture. LOL!

  2. LOL!! He was totally checking you out, woman. Who knows what fun you missed out on for being paranoid and pessimistic. Of course, you didn’t share if he was hot or not.

  3. I’d like to think I would embarrass the guy by asking if I had something on my pants. I’d like to think I could do it. But I know better.

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