my trousers exploded at a wedding
The night was young. The first dance by the groom and bride was underway, and everyone was feeling the vibe. Two songs in the DJ drops Gasolina and my neurons fired like a thermobaric bomb1.
I jumped in, sunglasses on; strutting the gifts that my ancestors bestowed upon me. My final memories are shoulders rotating, hips oscillating, all synched up. With the music shifting, I chose to elevate the playing field by dropping low (my fatal mistake).
Knees loose, ass heavy. The deepest squat this side of Portugal. I have seen enough vogueing footage, I know what to do.
As I bore upon the floor, the tensile strength of the trouser's fabric pushed against the G forces. The rear of my rented suit trousers2 heaving against my gluteus maximus. The line broke, and momentum came charging through, spears low with blood fury in its eyes. And then freedom. A gust of fresh air upon my buttocks greeted me to the realisation that my sins were now made materially manifest. The seam was torn asunder.
I turned round, hand instinctively to my butt, locking eyes with The Gnome. She knew. We ran to a corner cry-laughing.
When the tears subsided and sense came back to us, I vowed to keep this a secret until the end of the night. It was easier than alarming people and causing a ruckus with them trying to help me. Fortunately I wore a charcoal coloured suit and black underwear, which in the dark meant the tear was virtually invisible. Needless to say I had to abandon any intent of twerking.
This happened just after midnight and we left the event at 5:00. I was al fresco for 5 hours.
When the party was over, I approached the group and the newly weds and told them I had a "secret" that needed revealing.
Their concern turned quickly into laughter. And as we spoke about it, The Gnome realised she recorded the incident on camera.
...the legend will live on.