It's been a bit of stressful old time at work this week; so when
I burst out of my last big meeting I was flying high - and it
transpired - flying low.
Apparently, while I was winding up to my big presentational
reveal, my zip was winding down to reveal something else entirely -
to room full of clients. What rhymes with cringe?
I was ware that the zipper had been struggling to pull itself
together, but I had no idea it was just going to give up entirely -
right then and there. Time to get a new zip - and a new
client.
I scheduled an emergency zip replacement at the local dry cleaners
so they'd be ready for the following night, because I was going
out. But later that day, as I'm slipping into the mended jeans, I
discover there's a problem. They're suddenly 2 inches shorter than
when I took them in. They look ridiculous. I'm one sparkly glove
away from being booked as a Michael Jackson impersonator.
My jeans are ruined. My evening's ruined. Everything is ruined.
(I've lost all sense of perspective at this point).
My girlfriend hears the wails of despair from the bathroom and
wanders in, "Why are you wearing my jeans?" she says - all casual -
as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.
Her jeans? Her jeans? I rummage around in the laundry basket, and
find my jeans - dodgy zip perfectly intact. I have wrongly replaced
a perfectly good zip in her jeans while mine lies broken. I'm
wearing the wrong trousers.
I should probably point out that contrary to what people might
think this is not a regular occurance. My girlfriend and I don't
share clothes. The fact that we're both women and of a similar size
doesn't mean that we are all 'caring and wardrobe-sharing'. We're
not. I haven't let a belt out of my sight since my sister stole my
beloved wasp belt for a whole term when I went to university. I
must get that belt back.
Instead of consoling me my girlfriend seems to think it's funny;
yet another testament to my rubbish ways. She thinks it's
"priceless", but with another zip replacement it's actually going
to cost me £20. It's not fair. It feels like a lesbian tax on
indistinguishable denim.
Later that night as we are at the party, I notice that the laugher
has stopped. "This zip keeps coming down" she says, "It never used
too before, but now it does."
What never came down now comes down.
Don't you just love a bit of zipper karma.
