Having ordered my groceries on-line, I was waiting for the call to go pick them up curbside. No pre-set pick up times out here in the boonies; you go get the groceries immediately when they call.
While I was waiting at home for Sobey’s to call, my three year old grandson called to FaceTime with me. Sometimes he calls, talks for 30 seconds and is done, but this time he was chatty. After a couple of minutes, the landline phone starting ringing. Call display was showing it was the grocery store, so I picked up while still on FaceTime on my cell phone with Charles.
As I was confirming my credit card number with the Sobey’s clerk, I had a sudden urge to use the washroom. ARGH! Why does everything happen at once? Quickly, I finished my Sobey’s business, then told Charles I must end my FaceTime call, so I could go to the bathroom. Charles protested,”No, Baba I want to talk to you.”
“Talk to you later! Love you!” I hung up, feeling like the worst grandma ever!
I had on my “dog pants”; the pants I usually wear at home so when our Labrador Retriever slobbers on me it won’t matter. I grabbed clean yoga capris, pulling them on quickly, as I dashed out to my vehicle.
Mission accomplished, I returned home to spend the next four hours washing everything from the store, putting it away, then making our supper, and finally doing dishes. After supper, Mr. Wanton and I were relaxing, watching TV. I looked down at my legs elevated in the recliner.
“OH MY GOD, my pants are inside-out!”
With no emotion, Mr, Wanton replied, “So? It’s just us here in the house, who cares? It doesn’t matter.”
I jumped out of the recliner like it was an ejection seat.
“I wore these pants uptown!” I shouted.
I spun my body around so my backside was towards Mr. Wanton.
“Can you see the tag? Is there a tag hanging on my butt crack?”
“I can’t see your butt at all; your shirt is so long.”
I tugged my shirt up.
“What about now?”
“Oh yah, I can see the imprint of the brand and size, but the pants have no tag.”
Now, I was laughing, realizing unless someone was close to me they would not see the seams of my pants on the side of my legs. Whew.
I actually had inside-out pants on for the last six hours and didn’t even notice. I asked Mr. Wanton if he thought me going to town in inside-out pants was a sign of being too relaxed, or too stressed? He diplomatically “pleaded the fifth”.
A few days later, it was my birthday. For the first time ever in his life, Mr. Wanton baked a cake.
My parents, my son, and his girlfriend came for an outdoor visit. Mr. Wanton was in and out of the house as he checked on his cake project. My Mom asked him what kind of cake he was making.
“Square“, he said with a smart-ass grin.
“No, it isn’t, it’s a rectangle. Two sides are long. ” I laughed.
“Square, rectangle, same thing.”
I said, “If that cake is a square, then I am hourglass shape!”
“What shape do you think you are?” he asked.
“Rectangle! Just like the cake! A vertical rectangle, with arms and legs, and a head sticking out.”
“Like SpongeBob SquarePants?” he asked.
“Exactly! Except I have a head on top!”
The cake and the birthday visit were both a success.
That night as I collapsed into bed, a voice came out of the dark.
“Goodnight Sponge Baba Inside-out Pants!”