Diary of the BVDs: round II

Today/Yesterday (it's that awkward 10 minutes after midnight time again), I went road-trippin' to Jidaho and had Big Jud's for lunch. I know, sounds like bad news already. It only got better from there, because then I ate this:

And then my pants a'sploded.

Except not like when I went to prom and finished my entire entree and my date and I groaned in the back seat threatening to 'splode while the only real damage done came when I spilled sauce all down my dress and smelled like garlic cream sauce all night. 

Or that one time at another dance when a different date and myself shoved pizza mercilessly down our esophaguses until I could feel the threads in my sash threatening to rip and my date's button popped off his suit. (If someone wants to pay for my dinner, I ain't gonna wimp out on them and pick at a side salad.)

Not like that.

Like, my pants actually a'sploded.

Luckily I had a friend there to tell me this time, and the damage was only the length and width of an Eagle Scout's three fingers rather than Chuck Norris's fist. Prevention measures were taken. Be prepared.

Unfortunately, I was not wearing my stripy skivvies for the viewing pleasure of restaurant patrons. No, my back pocket felt great about flashing the good family name to all of Jidaho this time around. These whitey-tighties have never felt so free.

1 comment

  1. I. Love. You. And so does my mom, who heard about both your mangled pants stories today.



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