Barbed Wire

I knew I should have worn jeans to go into town. But I figured I'd just be making a short jaunt to the school office to drop off a form and deposit, so why bother changing?

I decided to go exploring on my way home and took a path I hadn't tried before that ran between the cemetery and train tracks. As I was walking down the path I saw a group of teenagers, 4 boys and a girl, poking at something on the other side of the barbed wire fence that ran alongside the railroad tracks. As I approached, one of the boys said something to me but I had my earbuds in so I couldn't didn't catch what was said, but I gathered from the sight of the soccer ball on the other side that he had asked something about how to get it back over or something. Here's me thinking, dude, there's 4 of you guys.. in jeans no less.. and you're asking me, a girl in khaki slacks for help? Any way, when I asked why they didn't just jump the fence and get it, they kept saying, but it's barbed wire... um... so? It wasn't like it was a rusted over tangled mass of tetanus breeders, but rather a vinyl coated chain linked fence with 3 lines of green painted barbed wire. Seriously? And these weren't like boys dressed in their prep school finest, but they looked like they wanted to be the punky cool kids with low riding jeans, converse shoes, and spiked hair. Lame. My roommate said English boys were pansies. Guess so.

I took off my backpack and climbed the fence. On my way over, my khackis caught on the barbed wire and there was a nice rip right over my knee. Great. But without further difficulties, I went over, tossed back the ball, and after tossing over my shoes...with some help from the boys holding back the wire, I climbed back. I got many thanks, but I can't say I really actually even looked at them and made eye contact with more than maybe that first boy who had asked me for help. Maybe it was cuz I didn't want to feel like I was showing off, because I know I have the tendency to enjoy proving myself to challenges. Or maybe it's because I didn't want them to feel bad to have a girl throw them back their ball, when they were too much of a wuss to get it themselves.

We parted ways and after walking a bit, I looked down to check out the damage to my pants only to see a dark spreading stain above it. Huh. I took a peek, and yup, low and behold a gorgeous 2 inch gash that was happily oozing away. I hadn't felt it. It didn't hurt. I had some pocket tissues and tried to blot and stop it, but it just kept a going, so I figured I may as well just keep walking home. By the time I got home, the entire area was soaked in blood.

So it would seem I paid the price for being nice and all tough girl idiocy. I tore up my one pair of khaki work slacks and am left with only one pair of work slacks. I have a beautiful gash above my knee. Slight rush from finally doing something active and out of the ordinary. And I need to go shopping now. Lame. I shouldn't have chased the goose. Or maybe just say no. I should have just worn jeans.