When Your Pants Ride High

“Those who guard their mouth and tongue Guard themselves from trouble.” Proverbs 21:23

I am usually a mild-mannered sort of dude. There’s not a lot that ruffles my feathers. I don’t mind when traffic is heavy and slow; I know I’ll get to where I’m going. I don’t mind when there is a wait to get a seat at a restaurant on a Friday night; I know they’ll seat me as soon as they can. I don’t mind when people bump into me when they pass me by down the bread aisle at the grocer’s; I know I tend to loaf. 

I’m a patient guy. But I’ll confess that every now and then I find my dander getting up for one reason or another, and when that happens, I put on grumpy pants. I inherited them from my father. On those rare occasions when he would get angry, he needed trousers that would stretch and cling at the same time, as he was wont to jump right out of those britches if he got all truly riled up over something.

One day, for instance, our toilet took to overflowing, but not always. It was unpredictable. It would flush fine one time, and the next it wouldn’t, causing the water to pour out onto the floor. He checked but couldn’t find a blockage, so finally, exasperated, he removed the toilet, took it out back, snaked it from the bottom with the garden hose and, voila, out popped my sister’s china toy tea cup. Dad became a human jackhammer, stomping on that cup until it was reduced to atomic bits. 

This past week found me needing to put on my own grumpy pants. It wasn’t anything major, just a lot of little things that were getting my proverbial goat. Becoming something of an old goat, it struck me more personally than it probably needed to.

First, there was a delivery scheduled to arrive the day before Easter. I had ordered the item ten days earlier, and it was coming by way of an express delivery service, but without a need to rush. I was excited; it was a gift for the missus and was to be a surprise for Easter dinner. On delivery-date Saturday, the Express truck pulled up in front of the house and sat there for about five minutes, then drove off. Apparently the driver had forgotten to load the package onto the truck that morning; the tracker system reset delivery to Monday. I absolutely positively will NOT trust that outfit for my shipping needs. Thus, I donned my grumpy pants.

Then early this week I needed to conduct some financial business online. I logged on, went to the page created for that purpose, and was directed to call a toll-free number. I called it and followed the automatic messages down the rabbit hole until finally the phone system sent me a link back to the web page from which I had embarked. The cell and web systems put me into an infinite loop. Not only was I wearing my grumpy pants; I’d pulled them up above my belly button!

Last night I wanted to visit one of our streaming services. I directed my voice activated remote to send us to the service which, for some reason, had forgotten who I am or was. It asked me to sign up or sign in. Actually, it didn't ask. It told me to. Unsurprisingly, that pushed one of my buttons. Televisions and cable boxes apparently have never heard of memorizing information, so I had to manually scroll across the fake keyboard punching in my email address and a password that contains a complex mix of numbers, letters alternating between upper and lower cases, and symbols (none of which was a gesture I really wanted to use). By the time I was readmitted to my streaming service, I was both steaming mad, and had pulled my grouchy pants up to my armpits.

Today, I have taken deep breaths; I have recited the Serenity Prayer; I have traded my grumpy pants, once again, for comfort clothes. If things happen in threes, I should be fine for a while. Meanwhile, my grumpy pants are available whenever I need them here in this, our valley. They still fit.

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)