Tonight when I was folding laundry I noticed that the rear area of my jeans was starting to look a little worn.  I’ll save the joy of that revelation for another post, but it reminded me of a story. 

I was in the 10th grade.  Still feeling like a shy and dorky 9th grader, but beginning to think maybe there was a chance I wasn’t as big of a dork as I thought.  Wishful thinking, I know.  It was my first year on the varsity cheerleading squad which meant that I spent a lot of my time hanging out with people that were older than me and much much cooler than me.  My family had also just moved into a new house so my Mom volunteered to have the Christmas cheerleading party at our place.  The day arrived and I picked out the coolest and most mature outfit I could put together.
 
The party went well for most of the night.  No major mishaps.  Nothing to cement myself into dorkdom forever.  When suddenly, in the soveriegnty of God, I just happened to brush the back side of my pants with my hand.  It took about 5 seconds before it hit me.  I had just had skin to skin contact.  How is that possible?!  There should be no skin in that area!  I ran to my room and turned around to look in the mirror and sure enough there it was….a hole the size of Texas kindly exposing my backside to the world.
 
I was mortified to say the least.  I quickly changed pants and ran out to ask my friends if they had been fortunate enough to see the show.  They assured me that they had.  Then I proceeded to ask them why on God’s green earth had they not told me about it.  To which they replied "we thought you were wearing it like that on purpose."  On purpose?!  Are ya kidding me?!  I can promise you that at no time since I was over the age of three have I showed my rear end to anyone on purpose.
 
So I’m putting out an APB right here, right now.  If at anytime you see a hole in my clothing that doesn’t have a head, arm or leg coming out of it….please for the love of everything holy and pure…just tell me.  Thank you, that is all.