Fast forward to this morning in the hotel room, where my cargo shorts were still quite wet. I patiently sat with a hair dryer and blow dried my pants for a while, til I got restless and bored and put them on. They were alarmingly clammy, so I stuck the blow dryer in my waistband. That rapidly presented some obvious disadvantages, so I just went with the wet look.
Having gone to a great deal of trouble to dry myself, I betook me to the Genre car and hit the highway for Federal Way, following lasirenadolce to the Norwescon Volunteer Picnic, where I put in a brief appearance before heading home to rendezvous with the_child. I opened a Dr Pepper, which immediately exploded all over my steering wheel, gear shift, driver's seat and cargo shorts.
Not to put too fine a point on it, but I spent the next half hour marinating my wedding tackle in Dr Pepper.
Upon arrival in Federal Way, new clothing was secured at Target on an emergency basis, and my day went on from there. I cannot fail to note the bizarre irony of the sequence of events, however, and the universe's apparent desire that I be blessed with wet pants today.
Meanwhile, I am contemplating another caption contest, of the photo me in the shower with my clothes on.
That is all. You may shop as usual. No need to return to your homes.