Flying Low

Whoever designed my new pair of pants didn't properly compensate for gravity as my fly always seems to settle at half mast. I gave up on correcting the situation early this afternoon. So for every time a co-worker tells me "psst, hey buddy, you're flying low." I look down, say "Oh! so I am" and continue on with my business, leaving my pants region well ventilated.

Does that bother them? You betcha. I figure it plants a feeling of unease much like seeing a crooked picture frame or having "to be continued..." pop up on the screen right when a TV show gets interesting. A feeling that all is not right with the world. A feeling that requires some sort of closure. And the longer it stays to percolate, the worse it becomes. That's my theory anyway.

So if my theory serves correctly, it starts off as a small subconscious thought like "Hmm. Odd guy, that one."

Leading to the next thought: "Doesn't...Doesn't he know that's not right?"

Then "It's still down. What the hell is wrong with him?"

Then [blind rage doesn't convey well in the written medium]

I'm half expecting M and a couple of his cronies to ambush me after work to zip me up.