I was at my daughter's house on a Friday night so she could pin up a pair of jeans I needed to hem. Because I'm a midget. Practically.
But that's not the important part.
I had worn the jeans to her house because blah, blah, blah, nobody cares why.
After the brisk work of pinning my pants up, Beautiful went to the fridge for a bottle of water and asked me if I'd like anything to drink. A large bottle of Gatorade was in the fridge. Suddenly I had a hankering for Gatorade.
For the life of us, we could not get that bottle open. And that's a serious blow to my ego because I am a freakishly strong woman and I am always the one people ask to open lids. Dammit.
We gave up and I decided to just stop at a convenience store on the way home and buy some of my own. Then I realized I was wearing pants that were pinned up and could not be seen in public that way--and I had nothing to change into. Naturally.
Discussing this conundrum with my daughter, she offered that, since she lives in a bit of a sketchy neighborhood, I could just take my pants off and go into the store pantsless for my juice. "Nobody would even notice," she added.
What I should have been thinking was how dangerous it is for my daughter and her young family to live in such a shady neighborhood and whether we should offer to help them locate a home in better surroundings.
What I was actually thinking was, "No, I can't take my pants off and go into a store. I totally have the wrong underwear on for that."