I was going to take the time tonight to write a nice blog post and maybe put up a photo before leisurely packing for the trip I’m taking tomorrow. But instead, I spent hours searching the household for my grey zip-off pants. Hours. I’m leaving in the morning, going out of town for another trip, and I need my grey pants.
They are the pants I always wear when I travel. They’re as comfortable as sweatpants. They’ve got all kinds of pockets, handy for holding cash and Dramamine. They go well with my red fleece, which I always bring to use as a pillow. They could even be considered stylish, if you think that hiking pants are cool.
I knew I’d worn them home from the monastery just a week ago. I knew they must be somewhere in the house. “Do you remember me coming home without pants on any time last week?” I asked my husband.
He searched the house with me. Since he does the laundry, he felt a bit responsible. We both knew it was highly possible he’d put the pants in the wrong closet by mistake – he simply does not possess the skill necessary to look at an item of clothing and know whom it belongs to. We looked through every closet, every drawer, every laundry basket. The pants were nowhere.
Finally, I gave up and sulkily got out my khaki pants to wear instead. That’s when the gang of teenagers came home from playing Ultimate. As they settled in the living room, I regaled them all with the story of my missing pants.
Shaggy Boy looked up, “Grey pants? Do they have two snaps above the zipper?”
“You know where they are?”
It turns out he had found the pants in his closet and tried to put them on. When he couldn’t zip them up, he realized suddenly that he was wearing his mother’s pants. Horrified, he stripped them off and threw them across the room.
I made him come up and search the boys’ room with me. And there, under the pile of blankets and pillows that the kids use for sleeping – we found my pants. Crumpled, but not forgotten.