It appears that I am surpassing all expectations – including my own – in terms of the limits of my Domestic Godlessness.
I found myself, after school, rambling about the pants for high school to to fellow mums, both of whom know me relatively well.
I wasn’t fishing for assistance, merely offloading something that was going around and around and around in my head.
Should I put my mind to it, I’m fairly sure I could have taken the pants up myself. Not well. Nor would it look ‘right’. But they would be up for any given length of time; a day, a week, maybe even a couple of months.
One of these delightful angels offered to do the job for me. I think she felt my anguish and wanted to help.
The other reassured me that not only was she good at this sort of stuff, but would be more than happy to oblige.
Thus the offending pants were packaged into one of the birthday gift bags that had been kicking around the floor for the last 24 hours and handed over at school pickup.
It was mere hours later that I received a phone call.
“Is his left leg shorter than his right?” was the enquiry.
A moment of blank staring and a few “ums” before “No, pretty sure they’re the same length, why?”
“Well, where you’ve pinned them, on both pairs, the left is considerably shorter than the right,” the Angel tells me.
“Um, well … you see,” I start. “Um, just go with whatever the longer one is. And, you know, I did