Today has started off like any other day. I slowly woke up and realized that
yes, it happened, I survived the night. With that melancholy awareness I
slid out of bed and elephant stomped my way through the frozen tundra (aka my bedroom). As I flung open the door to the amazon (aka my bathroom) I was hit in the face by the soothing sensation of a room kept warm and toasty just for me.
Why “Day One”? Well, because every day is day one for me. I make a
lot of self-promises and goals that typically have a “day one”. After
that, it’s hit or miss. I can’t think of many that have had a day five. No, I’m
not unmotivated or careless. I simply forget. Half way through my bowl of
cereal I remember that I’m eating a low-carb diet. 13.5 seconds after my
favorite DVR’d show begins I remember I promised we would make it to church today. And yes, oh yes, let’s not forget that as I climb in bed at the end of the day then, and only then, do I realize I was supposed to have joined a
conference call at 6pm. Alexa alerted me at 5:25pm; Siri yelled at me at
5:50pm; and then “60 Days In” beckoned me at 5:55pm.
Contrary to what you may be thinking, I actually like day one. Day one is
like a new beginning. I have purpose again, I have a goal, let’s GET IT! Today
I will finish my assignments for class before I mess with the blog and podcast
set up . . . oops. Never mind that, its day one, there is room for mistakes.
There is a minor hiccup. I haven’t totally decided what this day one is for.
Let’s just go with the obvious, its day one of you and I, and hopefully lots of
other people getting together for a few lines about absolutely nothing and
taking 29 min, or less to ponder the world we live in. So, lets ponder . . .
Who invented the snap? I mean the button and snap that serves as a tool to
keep your pants from falling. Who thought that up? A little research and I’ve
found that there’s a minor debate between Herbert Bauer of Germany and Bertel Sanders of Denmark.[i] This may seem like a topic that is a waste of time but think of all the moments you could have lost your pants. Graduation? Wedding? For me, a fateful day in the parking lot of Sam’s Club. Let’s be honest, who wants to see THAT happen?
I remember the day well. It was raining. I hate rain. My glasses get spots on them, my hair goes crazy, and it makes flip flop wearing a bit messy. Anyway, as I’m pushing my cart to the car, I realize I’ve got a nice breeze. I didn’t even know we had wind today, but it was hot in the store, and well, it felt good. I slowed down to appreciate it and take it in. I even tilted my head back to maybe catch a gentle spring breeze across my face. Nothing. Why is my nether region the only area getting a cool-down period?
I need to add that I often shop online. Occasionally wires and messages get crossed and I order or receive the wrong item. At the time of my welcome
breezeway, I had recently received new undies (yay!). But they were satin. I’m not a fan. I’m also no champion of the laundry process. So, satin it is. Let’s go back to that fateful afternoon. Walking and wondering, I feel a shift. The breeze is definitely centralized on my rear/crack region and I think I just heard my pants scuff on the ground when I took that last step. Suddenly I realize my satin undies have done me dirty. There is no apparent breeze! The only breeze gaining attention is the flapping of my butt cheeks in the wake of my procession to the vehicle. The stupid bobsled undies have created the perfect environment for my jeans to work their way down my oversized behind and are now resting at the back of my thigh like I’ve just spent an extended stay on the southside of Chicago and began sagging my pants just to fit in.
Obviously, we have a problem. I have now topped the hill in the parking lot and have begun the decent to my vehicle. Problem 1: Do I grab my pants that are being held in place by the snap in front or do I act as though I still have no idea. Problem 2: Do I maintain control of my cart that, without a two-handed effort will undoubtably take on a soapbox derby-esk lift off down the hill and into the front row of the movie theatre that rests at the bottom of the hill. Bonus: if I let go of the cart and retrieve it later, maybe I can get some buttery popcorn. Hmmm, decisions.
I decide for the wellbeing of the community to increase all arm strength and
one hand the cart which obviously has not been serviced because now I am going diagonally toward the wrong vehicle while attempting to slide/tug/hoist my pants back to a position that doesn’t show off my 18-inch bootie. Finally my butt was covered, I hadn’t hit the shiny Suburban with my cockeyed cart, and I was sitting in the driver’s seat of my car and eating a Zinger. I earned it.
Service your snaps people. They can save your life. Or at least save the
eyes of those around you. I’m certain there are roughly 5-6 people that have my behind etched in a forever damaged cortex of their brain.