Today, as I was bending down in a petite squat to pick up the last load of laundry for the week, something very... delicate happened.
I ripped my pants.
Not just a small rip, mind you...like, "my pants are ruined," ripped.
I felt very akin to Spongebob Squarepants.
(Had I a ukelele, I'd have even sung the song.)
The only other person in the house not at work, school or napping was my favorite ninja, Jake.
He ran into the laundry room and asked why I was laughing hysterically.
When I showed him my unfortunate situation, he replied,
"Mom, that's okay! I totally saw this monster that lives in the floor, and sometimes he comes out to rip pants. My pants are just too strong. But, really, it's not your fault!"
I'm really glad there is a pants-ripping monster residing in our floors, because being almost 36 weeks pregnant, I was a little worried that I needed to install blinkers and a sign on my backside that reads, "WIDE LOAD."