So, this happened yesterday.

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In case the photo isn’t clear, that’s a GIGANTICUS (Definition: bigger then huge, but smaller than a dinosaur.) hole the size of my hand smack in the middle of my ass.

And I went out in public like this. I shopped, blissfully (stupidly) unaware, at my favourite grocer—where everyone recognizes me because I live there—with a tear in my pants. The breeze wafting through wasn’t enough of a giveaway because I’m focused like that. Translation: clued out.

Nobody said Boo. Although there were a few tsk tsks and shameful floozy as I walked past fellow shoppers that had me looking around for a stray courtesan perusing the cheese selection. My lack of coverage in the glutes region screamed ‘Teetering on the edge!’ and ‘Steer clear!’ apparently.

I exchanged a quick word with someone I’ve known for years, but she said nothing. She blinked slowly several times as we spoke, as one does when one can’t quite believe the absurdity of what’s before us, but I assumed her contacts were dry or that she was communicating with the cashier in morse code. One blink for yes, two for no.

I’d like to think that if a friend had been there she would have a) first fallen down laughing and then b) told me that my ass was hanging out. Imagine if I’d been wearing the Christmas-themed undies with Ho Ho Ho scrawled across them that seemed like a bit of a lark at the time? At least I was respectably covered. Except for the holey pants part.

Not to be a braggart, but the ability to laugh at myself is one of my superpowers.

It’s one that my teen has inherited. Bou can accept playful ribbing and often makes himself laugh when he’s goofed. I have confidence PG will too as she grows up.

I was not like that as a child. When you lack confidence and have a fragile self-image, any stumble, figurative or literal, is an embarrassment of catastrophic proportions. Or at least that’s what I believed. If I made a mistake I’d mask it. I was the person who trips and then pretends to tie her shoelaces. Now if when I trip I do it big, and then fall down all over again as I pee my pants (hopefully ones that aren’t ripped) laughing.

Note: I don’t really pee my pants because…Kegels.

Such paralyzing self-consciousness is something I hope my kids never feel. If D and I do our job right they will be equal parts aware of others and yet unconcerned with how others perceive their quirks. My kids are made up of the sum of their quirks and those are some pretty cool ones.

Okay, I’m outta here…must shop for pants.