Splittin’ my pants

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A gouge in our dining room wall. That was the reason my ass ended up hanging out for all the world to see.

I’d been staring at that gouge for weeks before finally deciding today to do something about it. I bought some wall patch at The Home Depot and $43 worth of paint and set out to put a fresh coat of the glossiest shit money could by on there. This stuff is so shiny that my kids could actually do their homework on the wall and all I’d need is a damp paper towel to wipe that baby clean.

But before I could paint, I needed a change of clothes. See, I’ve reached that stage of my life where I have to be careful when I wear my good jeans because my “good” jeans are actually my only jeans. Don’t judge, either. I know half of you reading this are the same way and actually hate to even wash your jeans because then they don’t fit as good. But I digress.

I do have an extra pair of jeans I’ve held onto for projects such as painting, but they have a tiny hole in the crotch that make them unfit for public consumption. And while I recognize that showing your boxers is actually a fashion statement these days, most of my boxers have the same hole in the crotch as these jeans meaning anyone sitting across the room from me would have a bird’s eye view right to my frank and beans. And now that I’m in my mid-30s there are way more beans than frank so it’d be like looking at a withered old balloon surrounded by denim.

So I patch up the wall and get it all painted just as we’re heading into mid-afternoon. My kids were playing outside off and on all day and asked me to join them for some sledding. “Why not?” I think. “Sounds like fun.”

We head to the back of my house where we have this giant hill perfect for sledding. The kids go down a few times and look like they’re having a blast, so I decide I should get in on the action and see how far I can sled down.

I steady the inner tube on the snow and take a few steps back to get a running start. In my head I envision myself soaring through the air and landing on the tube with precision, propelling myself down the hill like a sexy human torpedo.

In reality, though, I take two steps and slip. My right leg kicks out and the sound of the ass ripping out of my jeans is so loud I could hear it in spite of my heavy breathing, screams, and children’s laughter. I land (i.e. fall) halfway on the tube and too far forward so that as I start to go down the hill I actually slide off the sled and into the snow. The freezing powder immediately fills my pants and I’m overcome with the strangest sensation of cold and wet and yet with a little warmth. I imagine it’s what Frosty the Snowman would feel if he shit himself.

The sled and I come to a halt at the bottom of the hill and I’m staring up into the sky while frost bite begins to set in on my taint. At this point I recognize that I ripped the ass out of my pants. I just didn’t know how bad it was.

I dust myself off and walk to the top of the hill. Both of my kids are now laughing hysterically and my daughter yells, “Dad, I can see your butt!” Apparently in the commotion my boxers tried to climb into my ass to escape the cold turning them into the world’s thickest thong. I would have dug it out, but I didn’t have any feeling on account of the hypothermia in my buttocks.

Soon after my wife comes out to join us and breaks into hysterical fits of laughter choking out words in between crying spells. I made out, “Your…pants…ass…completely….gone” before she collapsed into the snow.

When I finally went inside and took the jeans off, I was genuinely amazed at the destruction I had done. What once was a tiny hole in the crotch was now a crater so large that my Wranglers actually looked like ass-less chaps. I was basically wearing air with a denim waistband and pockets.

I took the pants off and tossed them into the washer.

“Why the hell are you keeping those?” my wife asked me.

“Simple,” I replied. “I might have to paint again.”

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I founded bigfunnyblog.com in the fall of 2014 because little funny blog didn't sound that catchy. I'm a writer, marketer, husband, social media guru and father of two. Follow me on Twitter @jasonwolverton.

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