Rip Torn

My mother is of the mindset that I wear my pants too tight because they hug my body; sometimes snuggly but the majority of the time, appropriately. She told me one time what my grandmother has apparently told her, “When you get to certain size, you need to wear pants with elastic waistbands” and that didn’t mean the current trendy yoga pants. It meant pants with no shape, that make you look far bigger than you are, and slide easily over the Rocky Mountains of hips I apparently have, all thanks to the elastic waistband.  When I was 13 and beyond insecure, yes, I wore large shirts to cover myself and they usually also came down over my behind. But I’m not 13 any longer and it’s also not 1970.

                Today, it has been shown time and again, that closer fitting clothing makes you look much thinner than big, billowy attire. That being said, I used to rival J.Lo’s figure before they made clothes for J.Lo’s figure. I have always had the kind of derriere white girls hate and every other culture and race loves. Short of wearing the aforementioned pants, this same protrusion would be noticed and obviously stick out in plain view. All of this being said, my pants are NOT too tight and certainly have never been tight enough to get me released from a teaching position (despite what my mother thinks).

                However appropriate my pants or jeans may be there was one pair that was not willing to behave quite the way they should have.

                It was the winter. The only reason I remember this was because of my scarf. It was this scarf that saved the eyes of my male at-risk students from being burned and blinded. Always looking for a bargain, I had bought a pair of jeans at TJMaxx over the weekend. They fit really well, I have to say. The first time I wore them, they pulled at the back pocket enough to make a hole. It wasn’t a huge hole, but I liked the jeans so I stitched up the hole and wore them on casual Friday.

                Fast forward to time in between classes around, say, 10:30. A very nice, albeit troubled boy who we’ll call Shawn, came into class first. As he talked to me I bent down to grab something and felt my pants rip where I had stitched them. Of course, the back pocket is where my ass is so I needed to find something to cover it. I calmly said to Shawn, “Please turn around. I have ripped my pants and I need to get to my coat so I can cover myself.” He abided by my wishes and turned away. I shuffled sideways  over to my desk with my hands covering the gaping hole in my pants.  I wasn’t covering anything. I was holding my own ass because the rip was so perfectly placed. I got my scarf and all was well, or so I thought because once the entire class was there, I sat down at my desk and the rip went from my back pocket down the back of my leg to my mid-thigh. I wanted to scream. My scarf was not going to cover my ass and thigh hanging out. I got up from my desk and walked backwards to the phone and called the office for coverage of the class; I was on my own with coverage for my hind quarters.

                I quickly ran to Marshall’s and found a pair of black pants that fit well enough to last the day. I got back to school as quickly as I could. Obviously I had to tell the women in the office where I was going and for what reason so they would send someone down quickly. The person who was there when I left was not the person I encountered upon return. This male teacher had his feet up on a desk, sitting in my chair, reading the paper. He was a real nice guy but had the tact of a squealing pig in a barnyard.

                “Hey!” he started, “You rip your pants?” I glanced at my class full of kids to see who had heard his not so whispery whisper. “That happened to me once. The whole seat split right open. That happen to you? Embarrassing huh?” He got up and as he folded his paper he said to me, “Don’t worry about it. Happens to the best of us.” He patted me on the shoulder and left the room. I stood where I was for about 15 seconds trying to process what had just happened. A fellow teacher, the person who does the same job I do, deals with the same demographic as me, just spoke loudly enough about a mortifying incident for the whole class to hear. Was that for real? Wasn’t there some teacher code or something about not speaking loudly in front of the students so they won’t hear what is being said? This guy was a veteran teacher!

                “Miss D,” a voice called from the middle of the room, “where were you? Someone said you ripped your pants.” Would that someone have been the jackass who just walked out of the room by any chance?

                “Don’t worry about where I’ve been just get out your homework,”  I replied quickly. The student hadn’t been rude or obnoxious about it all, simply inquisitive. They always want to know where you were, what you’ve been doing, who, why, when, how, touch, taste, sound, feel. I used to tell them that if they were so interested in the boring life of a 28 year old, there must be something wrong with their own social lives. Yet, I was honest and open with the kids almost all of the time so that type of question wasn’t out of the norm; it was just one that I hadn’t planned on answering. The rest of the day went swimmingly and I had a brand new pair of pants.

                And so my dear readers, there was one day where my pants could have gotten me fired. But, lucky for me, my scarf and my quick thinking skills helped me narrowly escape expulsion from my job and am here to tell my story today.