I have three pair of black pants in heavy rotation in my wardrobe. As there are five days in the week (four, if you allow for the fact that Friday's are casual), you can quickly tell that I wear all three pair every week and one pair generally makes an encore appearance. The frequent recirculation isn't a particularly big deal because, of the three, two are twins and, let's face it, they're fairly unremarkable black pants...not like anyone can really tell.
Except me.
One of the matching pair has a zipper issue: the zipper won't consistently stay up when I sit down. I can't decide if it just won't lock anymore or if the effort of holding in my burgeoning belly has just become too great for it. Either way, it's like a day at the funhouse every time I wind up wearing them. Will I unzip suddenly in a meeting? Can I surreptitiously re-zip without anyone knowing? Oh, the joys of the unknown!!
Today, I am wearing those pants. I have paired them with a cute, fuschia cotton knotted-v-neck shirt and a modest black suit jacket. Throw in the coordinating pink-pearl-silver necklace and matching earrings and the outfit absolutely has the aura of "totally put together."
I do, however, habitually check the neckline of this shirt because it hits just a smidge lower than I'm comfortable with and I don't want to be indecent at work. A few moments ago during my routine check, I noticed that the underwire from my bra had worked its way free and had crept a solid 2" above the bra when I caught it. I quickly pushed it back down, in and around...and, hopefully, out of the way of the little escape hatch it saw fit to carve out of its casing. Crisis averted.
...and then my pants unzipped.
You know, if they do finally call me about performing at a Superbowl halftime show, I think I'm just going to go ahead and say "no."
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