Recently the Mrs and I travelled some distance to attend a friend’s wedding.  As if the long drive weren’t enough, she was sick and I was in the process of catching what she had.  Grumpiness abounded.

It bled into the next day as well.  An hour before the ceremony, as we were getting dressed, the button on my pants broke.  I know, I know.  I mean, I was forearm-deep in the waist of the pants in order to tuck in my shirt, but they were tight to begin with. Too many on-set breakfasts and lunches and not enough physical work, surely.

So there I was…my arms out at shoulder height, sort of mid-shrug.  “Great.  Just wonderful.  I broke the button on these pants, and they’re brand new. Naturally I don’t have a belt, and I can’t wear the other pants I brought with the jacket I have.”

The Mrs slumped.  We both stood there, frozen, trying to figure out what to do.  Then I jumped.  “Hey, I have some line in the car.  I’ll just tie them up.  I do it all the time.”

“Once a stagehand, always a stagehand,” she muttered to herself as I quickly put on the other pair of pants I had on hand and gathered room and car keys.

I ran down to the car, cut myself some line off the bundle I always keep in the trunk, and returned to the room, whereupon I shucked the old clothes, donned what I was wearing to the wedding, and tied them up with a big grin.  “Nice.  That’ll work just fine.”  I looked over at the Mrs, who was standing there all ready to go.

“Good thing I always have some rope and a knife, huh?”  I said with a smile, while feeling various pockets for the car keys.  “Hey, where are the damned car keys?”

A moderate wait for the tow truck and man with slim-jim later, we were at the ceremony, and only 15 minutes after it started….