I have a new favorite pair of pants.  Okay, so they’re from Old Navy, and yes I got them on clearance, but they’re extremely comfortable, and I think they’re rather fetching.   They’re orange-ish brown “moleskin”, and were perhaps a little tight when I bought them.  The button lasted a week before it popped off like the top of a  2 liter of Dr. Pepper after rolling around the trunk on a trip back from Kroger (my mom will appreciate that one), and it was up to me to sew it back on.  Sew, I grab the travel, pocket-sized sewing kit I purchased from Target, and went to work.  Wisely thinking that if I moved the button over a few degrees from it’s original firing point, that would give me a little more breathing room, and decrease the chances of  anyone being button-torpedoed after one of my heavy, chicken-fajita burritos from Chipotle.

Button sewed, and pants clean I don them proudly the next morning as I stroll, head held high, into my office in the UBS building downtown.  C’mon guys, not EVERYone can sew buttons back onto their pants by themselves…  it takes a special kind of person.  I eat my oatmeal from Trader Joe’s, check my AOL, Yahoo!, and Gmail accounts, check our Batterymouth Blog (sure did), then slowly begin to do work, and make my way around the office.  Pee-thirty strikes, and I hit the can where I find that my zipper is halfway down.  Now, this halfway down is a noticeable halfway down.

It’s spread apart all Y-shaped like the flux-capacitor from Back To The Future.  Careful not to hit your head on the sink while you’re starin’ at my Marty McFly.  ChiCKa pOW!!!  After a few episodes of this sinking zipper scenario, I conclude that I’ve sewed my button too far ahead of the zipper, and the zipper just can’t keep “up”, so to speak.

Now I’m confronted with the dilemma, 1.)  Do I re-sew the button back to manufacturer’s specifications at the Risk of it Coraline-ing a passerby, and up until that point being uncomfortable for me?  or 2.)  Allowing the button to remain, and continue to play zipper tug-of-war with the crotch of my pants, until they make their way to that great second hand store in the sky, and by that I mean the Brown Elephant in Boystown.  Either way, next time I’m buying pants that fit.