Mrs. Underpants

“Wheel of Morality, turn, turn, turn. Tell us the lesson that we should learn.”* Click click click click click. Ah, here’s a good one: Never walk [or run] down Memory Lane when your pants are falling down.

It’s a well-known fact that freshly washed jeans have a crisp, new, tighter-than-usual feel when you first put them on. This explains why I didn’t notice the absence of the belt that usually adorns this particular pair of pants.

I first noticed a slight breeze in the commons area of the Men’s Dormitory. Yes, that’s right, the Men’s Dormitory (we were visiting campus). I was crouching down, attending to the children. At first I ignored the chilly sensation—it was a cold, rainy day and a little coolness seemed appropriate considering the weather.

But I did get concerned after awhile and executed a quick reach-behind-and-tug-your-sweater ploy. Hmmm. Shirt and sweater were in place….but hey! Whoa! That’s not supposed to be all the way down there….! Chris had a nice chuckle as did the two boys who walked past, smiling and saying “hi”.

I was adequately appalled and amused by the experience. Quick as a wink I was standing and hiking up my pants, the familiar pink tint of embarrassment touching my cheeks. I’ve since reflected on this incident and next time (if there’s a next time) I plan on unapologetically standing up, hands on hips and in my most dignified tone, saying, “That’s Mrs. Underpants to you, pal.”

With my pants securely hitched, the Pant Problem seemed under control. We walked around campus—which was weird, coming back after so many years with 2 kids in tow. Often I found it difficult to speak. There were too many memories. Too many emotions.

Chris and I took turns recalling a few choice spots. “This is where that fellow suctioned his ear to my cheek,” I told Matthew. “And this is where I asked Mommy for our second date,” said Chris. “This is where Daddy and I ballroom danced,” I added. “And this,” Chris said, pointing to a lovely hillside, “is where…”

I swatted Chris soundly. “You can’t tell a two-year-old what happened on that hillside!” He smiled mischievously. Apparently that is the reaction he was hoping for all along. He detailed the events of the hillside date for me anyway. Not that he needed to. I recall it with perfect clarity.

(My censor requested that I put in a clarification about the innocence of the hillside activities. So here it is. Seriously, people; think Marion the Librarian meets Choir Boy.)

Then the weather turned again and the torrential rains and wind forced us to use the overhang of the library (which was locked and closed) as a temporary shelter. But it was getting cold and we needed a warm, dry place for the babies. So Chris proposed a Great Dash to the Student Center (which was thankfully open).

This was, of course, a great idea. Until my pants began to fall down mid-dash. Chris and the kids sped past me as I alternately clutched at my pants and hurdled over large puddles. “WAIT!” I yelled. “My pants are falling down!” Which is the equivalent of saying, “Look everyone, I’m a raving idiot!”

By the time we made it inside the Student Center, we had water streaming down our hair and faces and we all looked rather soppy. Oh, and my pants were now weighed down with rainwater. This is (of course) when we ran into an old friend of the family. We hadn’t seen him for years and years and years. Fortunately he was enamored with the boys and seems to have missed my pant-clinchingness.

For the rest of the day Chris took pictures of me and my rebel pants, afterwards remarking, “Wow. You look so ghetto.” and laughing. I looked at the pictures and all I can say is, “Hey! I resemble that remark!”

What a down-and-out, wet and wild, I-see-London-I see-France day!

And so as I put on my jeans this morning (a different pair) and felt them slide as soon as I bent over to make the bed (which reminded me of yesterday’s absurdity), I calmly reminded myself that Caleb still thinks that I am the coolest person in the world because I can yawn. And then I went to the closet and got a belt.

*this is a quote from WB’s Animaniacs