Velour and I do not have a great history together. For those of you who may remember my story of the orange velour pants my mom bought for me when I was 12 years old, you know I’m not a huge fan of this material. As luck would have it, I have another velour story that will surely shock you.
A number of years ago, Anne and I were attending a meeting in North Bay for Autism. I can’t remember what the precise topic was, but I do remember it was hot, really hot. The thermometer in the room showed 90 degrees, but I think it was hotter. I was one of the only people there wearing shorts, so I felt fortunate. What was perhaps not so fortunate was the seating arrangements. I ended up sitting on an easy chair covered in velour.
Now, imagine a hefty guy, in a hot room, sitting in gym shorts on a velour chair. This is a recipe for disaster. Instant sweat, for sure. All I kept thinking about was how many other people had left sweat and odours previously in the chair, and just what I would be contributing to this cesspool. Suffice it to say, it was uncomfortable.
As the meeting progressed, and the heat built up from all the bodies in the room, I began to fall into a stupor. Little by little, my eyes were drooping, and my body was slowly sliding down the chair. By the time someone announced that it was time to take a break, I was almost horizontal. When I heard the word ‘break’, I snapped awake and sat straight up.
Perhaps this would be a good time to take a pause in this story and discuss the physics of velour, temperature, and gym shorts. Velour and gym shorts act much like Velcro, and the relationship is directly proportional to the weight subjected to the two interacting materials. Add in high temperature, and one comes up with the formula: (gym shorts) x (Velour) x (weight) / (temperature) = Velcro effect. There is a negative coefficient in there somewhere, but I’m not sure this is quite the right forum to discuss this. All the same, this formula is what led to the next series of events.
When I sat straight, too quickly, the ‘Velcro effect’ took place. I was where I should have been…..but my shorts weren’t. As people were preparing their transition from seated to standing, drinking, and hob-knobbing, I was seated, bare-assed and sweaty, on a velour chair, my shorts pulled down to my knees. Because of where I was seated, nobody had noticed. They sure would if I stood up, like they wanted me to do.
My wife Anne, who was seated beside me, was looking at me, wondering when I was going to get up and join the crowd. For those of you who are married, or are in a long-term relationship, you probably have developed a group of discreet signals which only you and your better half can decipher. These looks are useful in everyday settings to be sure. Unfortunately, Anne and I had not developed a signal for ‘help, my pants are down, and I need you to create a diversion while I recover myself’. She knew something was up (or in this case, down), she just didn’t know what. I was making every look I had in my repertoire. When she FINALLY looked down to where I had been desperately indicating, she did a double take. And had a look akin to a deer caught in the headlights.
To her credit, she recovered quickly, and discreetly led those around us to the window, to look out at the splendour of the pigeon poop in the courtyard, while I ever so quickly pulled up my shorts. I had the world’s largest wedgie, but my shorts were no longer at half-mast. Looking down at the chair, there was my derriere impressed in velour-relief. I hastily flipped the cushion, and joined the others for a well deserved bottle of water.
When the break was over, I did not sit back on the velour chair, but stood at the table instead, and tried for the next hour to work my wedgie out by sheer will of mind.
Come to think of it, it’s no wonder I don’t remember the topic of the day. I just remember to dress more appropriately for such occasions.
Bill's Musings 