Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to mourn the death of my favorite pair of jeans…
Last weekend, in the middle of Slumdog Millionaire, I somehow managed (although the basic laws of physics tell me it’s impossible) to catapult my iPhone into the row in front of me. The logistics of the accidental toss still baffle me. Anyway, in a normal situation I would have been happy to wait until the end of the movie to find it. However, the theater was filled to capacity and I didn’t want one of my fellow movie goers to step on it (especially after Apple had been so hesitant to replace it several days prior). I felt around on the floor in front of me. Nothing. I borrowed the phone of the person I was with (to use as a flashlight) and quietly crouched to my knees on the floor. As I did, in a moment of comedic gold that I thought only existed in movies, the seat of my pants ripped open. I heard it happen long before I felt the draft. Horrified, I silently climbed back into my seat and tried to pretend that nothing had happened. When the movie concluded, I asked the people in front of me if they could please look for my phone. Luckily, the phone was recovered in one piece - my dignity was not.
