Pay Attention to the Signs

Today while waiting around at the horse show for our daughters’ next events fellow barn Mom and friend Laura told me a story about the time her husband drove an RV.  See those of us who don’t own RV’s or rent them for the fair, tend to covet them by the third day.  After spending three days sitting in lawn chairs outside horse stalls sucking on hair and horse poop flying through the air we start to fanaticize about having a big-ass, tricked-out, climate-controlled, comfy RV to park ourselves in while we wait.

Not that we want to own an RV, just have one to sit in.  After hearing Laura’s story its not that we want to drive an RV either.  Her husband had to go pick up his invalid mother in Philly and rather than having a professional ambulance bring her to North Carolina he rented a giant RV and drove up to get her.  According to Laura it could have had it’s own zip code and perhaps a famous band had once used it for touring it was so badass.

On the way up I-95 Laura’s husband noticed that people passing by were waving at him and flashing their lights.  He just assumed they were admiring the deluxe apartment of the road he was piloting.  It was not until a state trooper pulled him over and told him he had run over a bale of hay, which had lodged itself to the undercarriage of his vehicle and caught on fire.

To say he had missed the signals other drivers were giving him might be putting it mildly.  But I should have realized that Laura’s story was just foreshadowing my missing a big sign today myself.

While walking the 400 yards from our stalls to the main arena for the fifth time today I felt a cooling breeze on my backside, but I just kept walking.  A few hundred yards later a nice woman driving a golf cart passed me and said “hitcher’ up” as she glided by.  Since we were at a horse affair I assumed she was talking about some horse thing.  Another moment and another cool breeze.  I put my hand behind me and realized that my jeans and my underpants had fallen to sub plumber levels.

Early on in this blog journey I wrote one titled “The problem with underpants” about how your underpants don’t get too tight early enough in the weight gaining process.  Apparently 49 pounds is how much you have to lose to actually lose your underpants.  I blame my two sizes too big jeans, which were only one size too big last week.  If I had tight enough pants on they could have kept my underpants up.

So now I vow to not wear any pants, under or otherwise that are too big.  I am paying attention to the signs before I scare anyone to death.