The Bees Knees

One particularly glamorous Saturday evening, while The Boyfriend was off on tour somewhere, I had a date with a pizza, a six-pack, and the National Hockey League playoffs. Fat pants in effect. Mine are a particularly comfy combo of button/velcro closure and wide-leg cuffs. After I stopped pretending I was still going to go out, I got up for a fourth, quite unnecessary slice. Well, in my zealous leap for cheese, I tripped on the wide opening of my pants, my foot stuck inside while my forward progress dropped me like a plank. Meanwhile, my hands are full holding a ceramic plate and beer bottle, neither of which I cared to have shatter on the floor or my face, so I had nothing to break my fall except the floor. My face ended up slamming into the plate, along with my wrist getting jammed, my toe stubbed, and both knees impressively black-and-blued. Moral of the story: Capri fat pants.