The Great Pants-less Escapade

I never realized how muscular my feet are!

Everyone has days where stuff just doesn't seem to go as planned. But those days look a little different when you're a dancer.

First of all, I know that caffeinated soda is no excuse for good nutrition. But every once in a while (a little too often, lately) I have moments where I substitute a Coke for real food. It's a terrible option, but that's where I was today.

So there I was, driving along to tonight's class, when I opened my Coke and it was way more carbonated than I expected. Coke sprayed all over the inside of my car and on my pants. In a most un-mom-like fashion, I didn't have a single napkin, paper towel or rag in my entire car and I figured, "these pants already need to be washed, I'll just use them to clean up this sticky mess." I waited until I was at a stoplight to take off my pants, and I was wearing booty-shorts underneath, but I was still technically in gear so I'm guessing that's a ticket-able offense. And I couldn't think of a reasonable excuse to give an officer, so I was pretty relieved that there were no police around.

What kind of ticket would they write for "removing pants whilst still in gear" anyway?

I made it to class and it was, as expected, just great. I left the windows of my car rolled down about an inch to take advantage of the cooler night air--despite the 30% chance of rain--because I live in the desert and it just doesn't rain that much here. Until tonight. Holy buckets of rain, Batman! Tonight it poured! And soaked at least half of the driver's seat. Great.

Pants-less, perched on half the seat of my car, and getting a soggy bottom, I received a text from my husband asking me to stop at the store and pick up some brown sugar. I happened to know that he was making secret-recipe cookies for some friends who were stopping by later, and I know how good those cookies are, and I knew I would be getting some too, so I agreed to stop by the store. (It helps that there's a store near the studio.) But I still didn't have any pants.

Did I let that stop me? No, I did not. I marched through that store, dripping wet, in a T-shirt, booty shorts and flip-flops and got the job done. Did people stare? You bet. Do I blame them? No way. It was a weird thing to wear.

But now I'm home, enjoying the aroma of delicious cookies baking in my oven, so all's well. Oh, and I finally put on clean, dry pants.

Bless my heart.