If things go in June like they did in May, I may not have a pant leg to stand on by Independence Day.
On a Monday, I covered the Blitz Build (The Home Builders Association of the Tri-Cities and Habitat for Humanity build a house in five days). The silt at the construction site pretty much did a number on the suit pants, but wear a suit to a construction site, what do you expect? Occupational hazard.
On that Tuesday, driving to court, I reached for the tube of chapstick I keep in the cup holder. The wax had melted in the sun and spilled into my lap–a most conspicuous and embarassing spot.
If you’re keeping score, that’s two trashed trousers.
Wednesday morning my 14-year-old Golden Retriever suffered a seizure. No question of my priorities, but lugging all 100 pounds of her into a backseat–and then into the vet’s office–covered me and the pinstripe suit in dog hair and drool.
The good part to this story is that Sundance is fine. She was back to her old self by lunchtime, eager to take her daily walk to check her pee-mail and bark at the ducks in the canal.
The suit, however, had sat in on its last newscast.
Next week, you may notice me wearing some new suits. You won’t see them, but pants are included.