I am the kind of person who will pull you aside and let you know if you have spinach on your tooth, or a booger, or toilet paper stuck to your shoe. I would hope someone would do the same for me.
So when I’m standing in a line this morning, and I notice the woman two people ahead of me has a hole in her pants, I feel obligated to tell her. This is not just a little hole where a seam is splitting. This is a hole that is about the size of a golf ball and frayed around the edges, and is right in the middle of a cheek. She is either wearing a thong or going commando – either way, I can see her butt. And her butt would do well (very well) to have some Jolen smeared onto it for a while. Her butt would also do well to get on a Stairmaster.
The hem of her shirt is barely covering the top of it. Without losing my place in line, I try to scooch up next to her to discretely tell her about the hole. “Excuse me, but you have a really big hole on the back of your jeans.” She looked completely nonplussed: “Oh yes, thank you, I know.”
Oh yes, thank you, I know? I know?
So in summary, she got up this morning and put on a pair of skin-tight, faded, frayed jeans with a big hole in the butt, knowing that the world can see her fat, hairy ass. And doesn’t care.
And this is somebody’s mother. Not only that, she is a Team Mother, as the line we are in is to turn in our AYSO volunteer forms. The team who has her for a Team Mom will probably be called something like The Soccer Slobs or Terrible Trash, and will probably get Twinkies and Pepsi at half-time instead of orange slices and Gatorade.
That’s just wrong on so many levels.
And also? On my way home from the AYSO thing I passed by a guy with a full beard, all tatted out, wearing a ratty T-shirt, black knee-high socks, combat boots… and a kilt. And was pushing a baby in a stroller.
But at least his ass was covered.