Danger Pants

I am not, as a rule, a superstitious man. I believe luck is what happens when preparation meets opportunity. Even so, I am not immune to the power of infrequent unfortunate patterns.

Almost two years ago, I rear-ended a moron on my way to work. I grumbled, whined, adjusted my driving habits and moved on.

A little more than a year ago, I was hit by a truck that slid out of control on an icy bridge. There's rarely a good time to hear the phrase, "Showered in glass". This was not one of those times.

Later that day my wife and I were picking glass shards out of my clothes when she casually mentioned, "You were wearing these dark green slacks when you wrecked last year."

Panic.

I tried really hard not to hate those pants. But I'd avoid wearing them whenever possible. I started to think of them as the "Danger Pants". If it was wet or icy outside, I'd pretend to be more enamored with the Khaki. If I did end up wearing the Danger Pants to work, I'd drive without blinking or breathing, ready to swerve into "off-road" mode at a moment's notice. During those trips, my heart rate never went below 120. I burned 300 calories per trip on adrenalin alone.

Salvation finally came in the form of a charitable donation. My wife said, "I've been thinking of donating some clothes to Goodwill. Do you want to get rid of anything?" After a brief celebratory shout, I calmly said, "I have at least one item in mind, yes."

Today, the Danger Pants are somebody else's problem. I feel so free!

I just hope I haven't unknowingly brought down doom upon some undeserving soul.