So wearing trousers is a perfectly normal activity and I have never had any problems in this department until this last few weeks. I have already detailed (below) how after spilling a cup of coffee in my lap I had to walk sopping wet to the local Marks and Spencer’s to buy a new pair, but, and can you believe it, this pair too have let me down!
On Friday, after spending a hard week sitting on my arse, either in the office or in the car I SPLIT MY TROUSERS! Right up the arse. Like some half rate pop star a huge rent appeared and my arse fell out of my trousers, a good job I was wearing pants! Now I have a pretty normal arse, its not huge or J Lo’ ish at all and it has never ever ever split my trousers before. All I did was reach around for my back pocket to take my wallet and RRRRiiiiiiiiPPPPP a great jagged rent appeared – obviously faulty goods; I bet J’Lo has this problem all the time.
So Saturday I had to take said trousers back to M&S. The people there were quite nice and couldn’t understand how it had happened, and agreed with me that it was faulty material, and I never ever caught them looking at my booty, not once, nor were there any raised eyebrows when I told my story, see that’s the beauty of M&S they never ask any questions and believe that the ‘customer is always right’ – it’s the British way!
So matey went off with my ruined trousers to see if there was a similar pair in my size, he had only just disappeared into the maze of shirts and pullovers when some bloke in a stripy suit appeared with a tape measure around his neck, pretending to be a tailor. I could see his calculating eye appraising my waistline, I suddenly regretted that bit of chocolate cake I had had earlier. He told me of his surprise that these trousers had split in such away and was I sure I had bought the right size? I told him yes thank you very much and that they were very comfortable, thank you very much, that was why I wanted a new pair and not my money back. Suddenly when I wasn’t looking (my gaze had drifted over to the lingerie section) he had whipped his tape measure out and measured my waist! Aha he said *%inches (damn something wrong with my keyboard) a good 4 inches bigger than the waist of the trousers I had bought. No wonder they had split! How could I possibly think that my $% inch waist would fit into a ^& inch pair of trousers (damn keyboard). He marched off with a smug look on his face that made me think of Mr Humphries in ‘Are you being served’!
But the fact of the matter is even the ripped trousers needed hitching up all the time without a belt, but shamefacedly I did replace the ripped pair with a pair one size bigger, but I still need to wear a belt! If I’d gone two sizes bigger I’d look like Coco the clown!
I have spent the weekend trying to catch a glimpse of my arse in any shiny surface we have passed, my wife thinks I am getting a nasty twitch and is getting worried about me. I may have to join a gym and work on one of those machines that shrinks ones butt to the same proportions as Kylies.
I’ll email J. Lo and ask her for some advice!