I Ripped My Pants and I Liked It

While bending over to yank some invasive English ivy from the herb garden in my front yard, I split the seat of my pants.

It took approximately four seconds for my brain to connect the soft, gentle tearing sound and the oddly satisfying sensation of flesh being liberated from confinement to the fact that the layer of fabric covering my 50-year-old, pantied (thank goodness) ass had just burst wide open.

Survival instincts kicked in, and with the speed with which we are taught as youngsters to “stop, drop, and roll” should our clothing catch fire, I dropped the ivy vine and promptly…

Source: I Ripped My Pants and I Liked It