So my pants are totally trying to escape me and I don't even understand why. I take care of them, I wash them, I even make conscious decisions to wear them on the basis of fairness. I'll be all " Hey pants! Who haven't I worn in a while?" and they won't say anything because they are pants, at least that is what I thought, until last night when they tried escaping. Maybe this whole time they've been ignoring the question like that kid in class who never raises his hand for fear of being called on and keeps his eyes down and chants "Not me. Not me. Not me." because he went out the night before and got plowed on "Genny Creme Ales" he stole from his Dad and didn't do his homework, and screw you ,Mrs. Hiler because your homework was dumb anyway(s). And my stomach feels like it's exploding. Stupid English elective. Stupid Genny Creme Ales.
Back to my fugitive pants. They keep calling for backup. They're being totally stupid about it though and calling random people like my old employment agency and my ex- wife. If I were pants and I wanted to be rescued I would call some Pants-themed superhero who could fly in and pummel me with fists made from super strong denim elastomers* or something, or maybe they could loop around my neck and try to choke me unconscious like a sleeper hold, only with pants. In fact, maybe this is why I woke up that one time after a particulary crazy night in college in the middle of a playground at 6am with no pants on. That was a long time ago. Maybe I've secretly been at war with my pants for decades and they hide like Anne Frank in my dresser and write long recollections that start "It sometimes seems this war will never end..." and they are all depressed and like the Eastern Europeans during the Cold War and now I feel just awful.
The Ex- said when my pants called her, she didn't pick up** so it kicked my pants right to voicemail and they filled her mailbox with the sounds of me playing with the dog. I don't know if maybe that is part of their plan, like maybe they think if she believes I am harrassing her then I will go to jail and have to wear one of those boss orange Devo suits and then they will be free. Frankly, I'm a little disappointed at the lack of complexity this plan seems to have. I would have expected more from my dungarees***.
* I have no idea what "elastomers" are but they sound sciencey and I think maybe I learned about them once, but I am terribly lazy and refuse to look it up so if you want to know you'll have to do the legwork. Sorry, but I have dance moves to perfect.
** You might think this rock solid evidence that my Ex- screens my phone calls would upset me, but it doesn't because I'VE had to live with me for 37 years and if I ever call me I will totally screen that shit too. Unless, I think it might be a call from the future warning me how to save the human race from SkyNet. Then I might answer.
*** My mom used to call my pants "dungarees" and I don't know what the eff that even means but it's probably something from the Sears and Roebuck catalog and older than dirt, and what's next Mom? A Brownie Camera and a Model-T? Grow up!