The Wrong Trousers

Me trousers split at work today.

One minute everything was fine, and I was chatting to a female colleague, and the next I looked down to see that a gaping hole had opened up from below the zip, all the way round to the saddle point of the trouser-space. Now, whilst this colleague's attractions are undeniable and multifarious, on this occasion the explanation didn't lie with an unanticipated tumescence event. Rather, the effort I had expended moments earlier in shifting a number of filing cabinets, had obviously torn the stitching asunder.

One's first thoughts in such a situation are obviously: 'Why can't they teach these third-world kids to use a sewing machine properly?' Subsequently, however, I realised that I was close to a total trouser-failure scenario, and remedial action was necessary. Sellotape placed across the inside of the rent fabric offered a temporary solution, but a safety pin supplied by another colleague, (who himself had suffered a total trouser-failure event some months previously, and been forced home by the trauma) was less effective, and ultimately discarded.

I duly reduced the length of my gait, and struggled to the end of the day as best I could.