Crabby pants

This weekend my office had a crab and seafood feast. I was in charge of picking up the crabs and steamed shrimp since I live closest to the market.

We left work at 4pm and I raced home to shower, change, and head to pick up the food. When I opened up the door to the market I was immersed in heat and the pungent smell of the sea. Burners crackled, steamers hissed, and the men behind the counter yelled out orders with military efficiency. I waited in line, diligently reciting my order when they pointed to me.

"One bushel of crabs and three pounds steamed shrimp!"
"Comin' right up." He turned away, slid open the steamer and pulled out a tray of shrimp cooked to perfection. He doused them in Old Bay, salt, pepper and some other concoction that smelled like the scent of heaven, if heaven were a grizzly old sea captain baked @ 500 and covered in seasoning.

The bushel of crabs was packed into a cardboard box and sealed. The nice guy behind the counter helped me carry the crabs and shrimp to the counter. As I was paying he offered to help me to the car. But they were so busy inside that I told him not to worry about it. I hoisted the box of crabs (with the boxes of shrimp on top) into my arms and made my way carefully outside. The one flaw in my plan?
Those suckers were HOT and HEAVY. My car was about 15 down from the door and I shuffled my way slowly down the parking lot. When I got there I realized I'd have to put the food down on the ground in order to open the back hatch on my truck. I bent down ever so carefully and heard something that caused me to drop the food, spilling cocktail sauce in glorious fashion all over the blacktop.

My linen pants had split. And it was no small split either. They had ripped completely, leaving the, ahem, rear portion of my body exposed to the parking lot, market, and passerby. I had to make a quick decision- cover my ass or save the food. I couldn't do both. I had to bend over again and clean up the mess and put the food into the car. And so, to honor that fat girl that lives inside of me I did just that. To the tune of honking horns, wolf whistles, and the angry old lady who muttered something about "tramps these days" under her breath I saved the crabs, shrimp, and cocktail sauce at the expense of my dignity. (or not, I mean how much did I really have anyway?)

Needless to say I had to go back home and change my clothes. As I was getting ready for work this morning I picked up my bag and was assaulted by the smell of cocktail sauce. Another embarassing moment turned into a memory. It's what I do people. It's what I do.