The Button Story

Okay, after posting my embarrassing story early this week, my aunt reminded me that I needed to tell the infamous “button story.” Somehow, I had forgotten about the below story. I think it’s because my pride can only handle so many embarrassing stories at a time so my brain starts throwing out excess embarrassments. Anyway, here goes.

Chapter I

It was my very first day of college, my very first class. Reaching into my closet, I was especially conscious of trying to look put together without trying too hard. So, I pulled on my favorite “I don’t care too much” khaki shorts and a fitted T and headed out.

My first day I only had one morning class ― English, which matched up well with my friend Jon’s schedule, so we drove to class together. I walked in and sat down behind someone who, little did I know, I would soon get to know very well. We were partnered for a discussion group during which I found out his name was Kyle, and we had a lot in common. We became fast friends, and somehow ― or maybe because of ― the below, remained friends for years.

Chapter II

Our English class let out and I decided I would park it on a bench waiting for Jon’s class to let out.

I was very strategic about where I sat on this bench because I was a bit shy since it was my first day and didn’t want anyone sitting down next to me (I’m really not good at “just getting to know you” awkward conversations).

I decided I would read our assignment for a few minutes until it was time for Jon’s class to let out. Checking my watch, I decided it was time to go grab him and head home. And here it comes.

I went to stand up from the bench and ―

Plop!

I was pulled right back into the seat.

What the heck? I thought. Oh no. Oh no. I’ve sat in paint, I thought. And turned to look at my toosh which I was imagining covered in forest green paint bynow. But I couldn’t even see my toosh – whatever had me stuck wasn’t letting my tookus get that far.

I plopped back down. Maybe I was imagining this whole thing. I tried to stand again and ―

Plop!

What in the ―

 I turned around and suddenly it dawned on me. My cute little “I don’t care too much” khaki shorts had a button on the pocket that had somehow slipped through the grating in the bench and gotten stuck underneath.

The chances of this happening are probably somewhere close to me winning the lottery, but that’s just my luck ― stuff like this happens to me ― not the lottery-winning stuff.

Okay. I thought. Think. But I couldn’t. I was too nervous. I was stranded on a bench and Jon was waiting for me and a half-inch button was holding me down!

Okay, just reach around and pop the button back through. But I couldn’t do that either. My strategic way of sitting down to avoid awkward conversation had left my arms too short to reach over and under the bench to pop the button back through. You idiot I thought.

Okay, one way left. Force.

I stood up as fast as I could, working to pop the button off. Surely the velocity of my body weight could do such a thing. I heard a tear and grimaced for my favorite pair of shorts.

Still, no luck. I pulled, standing up and down up and down and up and down. At this point I was a bit frustrated, a lot embarrassed, but also truly admiring the craftsmanship of shorts that could withstand this much pull without tearing. Had to hand it to them. I was sure everyone on campus was starting to point out their classroom windows whispering, “Umm. What in the heck is that girl doing?”  

 “Hey!” Wide-eyed, I turned and saw Kyle, who, unperturbed by my strategic middle seat plopped right down next to me. “No way,” he said, looking at my book. “Are you studying already?”

I tried, and failed, to keep up a general conversation for a few seconds and finally caught up the courage to say, “Kyle. I’m stuck.”

“You’re what?”

“Stuck. I’m stuck!”

He shook his head. “What do you mean?”

I was all sorts of red at this point. Like ripe tomato red. Like a shade of red that would make Tim Gunn say “Work it!” on the runway, but it didn’t look at all good on me.  

“My button is wedged under the bench, and I think I need you to pop it back through.” This was a nice way of saying “Will you please touch my butt even though I’ve only known you for about five minutes?”

Kyle started laughing (this is another reason we became friends). He didn’t hesitate, nor give me a creepy look that said, “Wow, I get to touch your butt after meeting you for five minutes.”

Instead, he crawled right under the bench, popped the button through, and didn’t even comment on my ratty old green underwear that was now peeking through the bench due to the tear I’d managed to create pulling up and down.

“Thanks,” I said. And Kyle kept chuckling, and said, “No problem.”

Chapter III

“What took you so long,” Jon said standing outside his classroom.

“Really?” I said. “You don’t want to talk about it.” I turned and he followed me.

“Why are you covering your pants like that?”

“Jon,” I slowly pulled my hand back to reveal my torn shorts and Jon, who has been a best friend of mine since we were 9 and is like the best brother you could ask for smiled, lifted and eyebrow and said ―

“What the heck did you guys do in your class?”