How Cling Wrap Saved Trickle-Down Pantsonomics

I was sitting in my hotel room, out of town on business. Rural Idaho offers little to the senses in the dead of winter, much as it does during the warmer months. Bored with the seemingly endless farm reports, and 80’s movies (it seems as though the entire are is over 30 years behind the rest of civilization), I drifted in and out of daydreams.


Suddenly, I was shaken awake by what sounded like someone tripping in the hallway, just outside my door. I quickly snapped to the peephole, just in time to catch a glimpse of silvery-Black coif as it pressed against the glass.


Before I could distinguish from looks alone, an all too familiar voice cried out “Nancy! Help! My pants have fallen around my ankles again!” To my surprise, not so much delight, I recognized it as the voice of the 40th president of the United States, Ronald Reagan.


Swiftly; I opened the door, just in time to catch him from falling forward. He almost certainly would have smacked his face on my door, if not for the impact being softened by my cotton-poly blend slacks. He looked up, I could see the universe in his eyes, and vapid expression. “I like jellybeans, George” he exclaimed, assuming I was his Vice President, and 41st President of the United States, George Herman Walker Bush. I was in no mood to argue, so I answered back in my best Texas drawl, “I know Rawhide, I know.”


“My pants fell down again, George” Reagan said with an air of embarrassment. “I lost the lasso I hold them up with” he continued, with the look of a helpless toddler glued to his face. “Let us see what I can do to help you” I replied, again as a faux Texan.


Looking quickly about my temporary abode, I noted a roll of cling wrap, given me by my old high school track coach. I had run into him while traveling through one too many in a long list of small towns, on my recent business. He had been parting with some of his possessions; as he was anticipating moving to Fiji, to start a sausage and donut stand with his dog, Cloister. He took one look at me, paused my movement with his index finger, and produced the very roll I previously mentioned. “I will always remember you for knowing your roll, and sticking to it, no matter the distance to be made up, or the distractions around”.


Snapping back to the present, I was struck with an idea. “Stand up Ronnie” I said, “Come over here, I have got a solution to your problem!” He obliged, and I instructed him to pull his plaid pajama pants to a height more suited to a man of his stature. He continued to shuffle like a man with a broken shoelace trying to keep up at a crosswalk. Reaching down, I yanked his pants up, only to discover he was not wearing undergarments. Deftly avoiding his dangling bits, I managed to corral his shame, settling the waistband just below his stomach flab.


Working quickly, I pushed him on the bed, and began to get to work. “Just relax old friend, you are in good hands” I assured him. Starting at his overgrown, yellowing toenails, I began wrapping him like so many thanksgiving leftovers. His pants were going to stay up, damnit, if it was the last thing I did. I pulled the plastic extra taut at his waistband, for effect. As I reached the top of his head, he began to wriggle as if he was suffocating. Realizing he was, I poked three holes for him to breath through his mouth and nose. He immediately relaxed, as I watched his eyes glaze over in sweet, warm contentment through the hazy plastic.


Just as I finished my task, his wife, former First Lady Nancy peeked around the door jamb. “Is he secured?” she inquired, I nodded in silence. “Good!” she exclaimed in relief, “ Now I am going to show you my gratitude!” she purred as she began to undo her robe….

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