One More Step Leads to Senility

A few months ago I purchased a new belt. This is no ordinary belt. The belt's buckle has a little spring, which allows the belt to be reversible. As many know, reversible is one of those things men love.

Why is a reversible buckle so awesome? Picture yourself early in the morning....struggling to get dressed while half awake. You pull the belt through the loops only to find the buckle backwards. No worry. Simply pull the buckle out a little, turn it, and BAM....belt is good to go. A modern marvel of engineering!

However, there is proving to be a dark side to this boon to mankind. This buckle is making me appear senile. Here's how:

I am a creature of habit and of steps. I empty the dishwasher with a routine. I fold clothes with a routine, and I put my pants on with a routine. This routine has been:

1. Pull pants up
2. Fasten button of pants
3. Buckle belt
4. Zip pants up

Yes, four distinct, equally important steps. Not three, not five....but four steps. I have had those same four steps for over 40 years. They are proven. They work.

Recently, I have noticed the hinge in my belt buckle is a little loose. Not a lot....but enough. As a result, the buckle almost always needs to be adjusted before buckling. Uh oh.

A simple glance at my process of putting pants on will reflect how this is a problem. For now, when I put pants on (in the morning, after going potty, and other things (wink, wink) my four step program has been changed...much for the worse.

1. Pull pants up
2. Fasten button of pants
3. Adjust buckle
4. Buckle belt

My pants program HAS to be four steps. It's always been four steps. I'm too old to implement a new pants program.

So, over the past few months I have noticed an alarming habit of going out and about with the barn door open. And, by alarming I mean about 30 times. Many might see this as an early indication of me becoming "that weird old man". While I still may be destined for that role, this is not the onset....not yet.

Few will know what you know....the cursed buckle has claimed yet another re-pantsing.

If you happen to see me walking down the street, in the halls, etc. and my fly is open, don't bother telling me. I probably already know it.

Wonder if suspenders would be better. Nanoo Nanoo.

Can Someone Shut That Window?

Many moons ago I blogged about being forgetful with regards to my fly. My hope was that this was one of those isolated incidents. I guess I didn't hope enough.

About three weeks ago I was invited to a meeting that included several people from my department's top leadership. While I am not an image person, I still realize that I can't be a complete buffoon around them.

As a side note, I have this phobia/fear that I will be in a meeting with some big shots, and have the human "2 minute warning" hit me. So, I make it a point to take care of all my business prior to any big meeting. (I am guessing you are sensing where this is going).

Flash back to 15 minutes before the meeting. I walk over to the building where the meeting is being held. I then use the bathroom directly outside the "leadership zone". I did this in case there was any noise or residual aroma. Another phobia is walking out of a stall where I just completely blitzed the surrounding air, only to see the department's VP...coming out of the stall next to me.

Anyway, I went from the bathroom, around a corner and into the special big room with thick carpeting where the meeting was being held. There were already several of the major players in the room. Since I seem to have a bit of a reputation in my department (go figure), just about everyone looked up when I entered and gave me a standard SUP? (or something like that). Sort of boosted my ego a little. They know me.

Well, as is always the case, whenever I start to experience a little pride, my guardian angel brings me back to earth. This time was no exception. I sat down next to a Director I know. It was then I felt it....the cold breeze below "the equator" that tells me the door is not only unlocked, but is wide open.

A quick glance down verified my worst fears. I had, in fact, strolled into a meeting with leadership, sporting an open barn door. Damn damn damn.

Of course, my next challenge was how to discretely close said barn door. I ended up pretending to drop a pen. Then, in a series of synchronized moves, I used my left hand to close the door, while distracting with my right hand. Looking back, my little act likely attracted a lot more attention than if I had simply reached done and zipped my fly.

Sometimes I am such a dork. Ok, almost all the time I am a dork.

OK, I am a dork.