Dude, where are my pants?

Seriously, I can’t find them. They are the ones I was wearing on Friday night: my favorite pair of Thread-Dyed Black Levi’s 527s. I woke up this morning and they were gone. I’ve looked under the bed, in the laundry bag, in the closet, under the bed again, and in the chest of drawers. They are gone. Capoof!

I really don’t think I had the kind of good time where your pants disappear. I wasn’t drunk, stoned, tripping, or tweaking. I was just really tired. So tired, in fact, that I think I slept in my clothes. In that case, though, they should be on the bed somewhere. Maybe under the quilt?

Nope, not there, either. Crap, my belt is in those pants. I would just put on another pair of jeans, but man, I need that belt. What is going on here? Maybe I’ll check in the living room. I might have undressed at the door. I mean, I was pretty tired, I really can’t remember.

Dangit. Where could they be? I didn’t wear them at all yesterday, because I was wearing swimming trunks on the canoe trip. Could they be in the car? No, that wouldn’t make any sense whatsoever. I didn’t undress on my way back from Council Bluffs.

Holy crap, they are right there, in the backseat of my car. I sort of remember, now. I woke up pretty early for the canoe trip, so I was still tired. While I was brushing my teeth, I heard an explosion outside, and the power went out. Sure enough, a squirrel gave up it’s life, jumped into a transformer, and took my power out with it. Not only were my lights out, but the automatic garage door wouldn’t open. Stall number five had been left open by its occupant, so I could get to my car, but I couldn’t back it out. That’s not important. What’s important is that my swimming trunks were in the car, so I put my jeans on, walked to the car, and changed into shorts behind the shut garage door.

So that’s where my pants are. I’ll be damned.