Polar Bear, My Ass


I bought a pair of sweats the other day.

This, in and of itself, is not necessarily of note. However, since boycotting just about everything in regard to my alma mater for almost ten years, I broke down and bought a pair of sweats from said university. I guess I’ve finally gotten over my thesis.

In any case, I meant to get these cute blue sweats that had the name of said university running down the leg. That’s harmless enough.

Instead, as I was searching for sizes, I didn’t notice that the motif had changed. So what I bought were sweats that had the team logo on the ass.

This, even, would be alright, if my ass weren’t the size of Montana. And if the team mascot wasn’t wolves.

See, it has the team logo, along with wolf prints right on the butt. Only, when your butt is the size of mine, it looks less like wolf paw prints and more like, “Oh, my god, I was mauled by a polar bear!”

This is exactly the look I was going for.

I should return the sweats. I really should. But I’m not going to.

Not only is history an indicator (I really don’t return stuff I bought, unless I made a huge mistake with sizing, which happens, precisely, never), but I’ve also worn the things. I’d pulled off the tags before I even noted the polar bear prints right on the butt.

So I’m wearing the infamous sweats.

And proudly embracing the polar bear.

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