Lori of Walmart

Yesterday I had an appointment in Austin.  I was going to be spending most of the day there, so I put on my favorite jeans.  The comfy ones I have had for a long, long time.  Everyone has a pair, you know the ones I'm talking about.  The ones that have been washed so many times they are softer than your pillow.  The ones that make you look good, but still fit even after Thanksgiving dinner.  The ones that could squelch home-sickness in minutes after putting them on when you were lonely your freshman year of college.  Well, mine are well-loved and  well-used.  So much so that they have had this little hole just next to the pocket rivet for some time now. It was a small hole, about the size of a pencil eraser.  No big deal, the hole has been there for years.

After a long day in Austin in my comfy jeans, I drove over to Bastrop (about 25 miles from my house). I was tired and just wanted to go home, but there were some errands in Bastrop that absolutely had to be done that day. Well, I found out some important information.  Apparently if you get into your car JUST RIGHT, you can make a tiny little hole turn into a tear from your pocket all the way down your cheek.  Ordinarily, I would have just brushed it off, got in the car and drove home to lament my loss in private.  However, as mentioned before, errands had to be done.  So, I searched my car frantically for any extra clothes.  No workout shorts, no sweatshirt, no leftover gowns from my daughter's visit to the doctor.  Not even a do-rag to tie around my waist or nonchalantly hang from my pocket like a grease monkey.  Nothing.

I  had no choice, I had to do it.  I had to turn into one of the "people of walmart" to buy new pants.  I grabbed the first pair I could find.  Of course, when I got to the dressing room, the actual size of the jean were about 3 sizes smaller than what was advertised on the hangar.  Back out I go.  I grab the proper size, they fit.  All is well, no big deal.  Well the woman at the dressing room is apparently a stickler for the rules.  She would not, under any circumstances, allow me to keep the new jeans on before purchasing them.  I begged, I pleaded, I showed her my old air conditioned pants.  Nope the rules were the rules.  I don't think even bamboo shoots under the fingernails would have convinced her otherwise.  And so, resigned, Lori of Walmart walked up to the register and paid for the pants.  At that point, I didn't even try to hide the tear with the new jeans.  I just walked around the store, defeated.  And cold.  Then I changed in the restroom.

There were several "morals of the story."  I listed them below and you can choose whichever you like"

     1)  Your mom was right, always wear clean underwear.
     2)  Your mom was right, throw away your holey jeans.
     3)  Your mom was right, keep extra clothes in the car.
     4)  Your mom was/is always right.

I went to the all consuming website and found a picture of what my jeans looked like, though I did not don a knife, nor '70's underwear.