The wrong trousers

At dancing last night (a mix of samba and quickstep, but not together) I realised I had a small hole in the arse of my trousers. I don't think it was noticeable. I noticed it though and then forgot all about it.

This forgetfulness turned out to not be one of my better ideas.

At work this morning I suddenly realised that I had put on the same trousers and that they still had a hole. This would have been bad enough, but the hole had now grown considerably - it was now about eight inches across. Once I discovered this I made a conscious effort to not leave my seat for the rest of the morning. It would be embarrassing to be walking around the office only to have somebody shout out "Look, you can see his pants!".

Now I know that girls will often walk around with the top of their thongs poking out of the top of their low-cut trousers - what is colloquially known as a "whale tail". They look ridiculous. Underwear is called underwear because it's supposed to be under what you wear. Not poking out of it. I, unlike an uncouth girl, don't wish people to see my undercrackers. Not that there's anything wrong with them, it's just that the office is not an appropriate place to reveal one's private glories.

I therefore decided that I had better head into town at lunchtime to purchase a new pair of trousers to wear for the afternoon. I do sometimes need to leave my desk and it would look a bit odd if I put on my long coat every time I went to the coffee machine or the toilet or the printer.

In Marks and Spencers, a girl approached me. I was looking at trousers so she'd clearly got me pegged as someone who knew a thing or two about clothes. Luckily, I was wearing my long coat so she was unable to catch a glimpse of my nethers.

She asked if she could ask me a personal question. I wondered what was wrong with "Hello!", but I guess people aren't as friendly as they used to be. She was holding two near-identical stripey jumpers. She said that she was buying a jumper for her "friend" and he was a similar size and build to me (ie he was also a tall lanky bastard). She wanted to know whether I normally wore medium-sized or large-sized jumpers. I wasn't really sure. I think I sometimes wear both sizes. I know I do with t-shirts. I explained this to her, but then in a fit of generosity let her measure the medium one against my arm. It seemed like it could be slightly short so she decided on large. Then she thanked me and went on her merry way.

Despite me doing this good deed for her, she didn't give me a reward, or indeed any form of payment at all, except for a smile. Not even a pound. Tight moo.

To be honest though, I was quite glad she had only asked me about the sizes. If she'd instead asked me whether or not I liked the jumper, I'd have had to reply that I really didn't, yuk. And that wouldn't have been polite.

So anyway, with my good deed done I found a pair of trousers (32" waist, 33" inside leg - not the easiest to find today) paid and left. Then, when I got back to work, I went straight to the toilet and changed into the new trousers. I'd had the foresight to take a pair of scissors into town with me to cut off the labels when I returned. I was able to do this because I do not pass through any airport metal detectors between my desk and the shops.

I've thrown the old pair of trousers away now. They are of no further use to me.