Do these pants make my butt look big?

Jerome loved his wife; he really did, but when Leanore asked how she looked in the cream-colored linen slacks, he may have fibbed a little bit.  He did it for the reasons that any man tells his wife that she looks fine: he was ready to go, and she had been getting ready for the last hour, making them run twenty minutes later than he wanted for his cousin’s wedding.  After five years of marriage, he overlooked the little extra weight she had put on and the way the pants stretched at the seams.    “You look wonderful, darling.  Now, let’s go,” he urged.

The wedding was beautiful, but the service had been a long Catholic affair full of standing and kneeling, and the church had been stuffy.  He was sweating in his suit and wished he could take the jacket off, but the damp circles under his armpits made him realize he would need a little time in the bathroom to air out.

When the service finally finished and the happy couple made their way back up the aisle, Jerome glanced at his own blushing bride.  Leanore was smiling, and a tear glimmered in the corner of her eye as if she was reliving their own big day.  Jerome hugged her to him and then followed her out of the pew.  He glanced down at his wonderful wife’s posterior, and suddenly realized he could see more of it than was appropriate in church.  Her own sweatiness had collected around her rear, making her pants somewhat translucent and revealing her underwear, a pair of granny panties with tiny flower print.

Jerome stepped closer behind her to hide her undergarments from prying eyes.  She glanced over her shoulder and up at him in slight confusion, probably wondering if he was also feeling a little romantic over their own wedding memories.  He just smiled back.

“You want to stay and throw rice?” Leanore asked.

“Let’s just get to the reception,” Jerome said, lightly putting his hands on her waist and guiding her toward their car.

As soon as they were in the car, he cranked up the air conditioning and flapped his jacket in the breeze emanating from the vents.  Leanore dug through the purse on her lap and pulled out a packet of tissues and proceeded to use one to blot her face.  “Man!  It was hot in there.  I was sweating my butt off,” she lamented.

“Yeah,” Jerome said and debated for a moment whether he should mention the condition of her pants.  After considering that the pants would probably dry in the air conditioning on the way to the reception, he decided that he would keep his mouth shut.  She would probably insist on going home to change, and there was no time for that.

As he reversed out of the parking space, he turned up the air another notch.

When they got to the reception and he helped her out of the car, Jerome found that he was right; Leanore’s pants had dried enough not to qualify for a Spring Break wet t-shirt contest.  He took her by the arm and guided her into the atmospherically lit reception hall.

Faux crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and a deejay played quiet, instrumental music as guests arrived.  The tables were covered in pale pink fabric and held oversized floral centerpieces.  Place settings included matching pink linen napkins folded into peaks and name cards for each guest, and attendants made rounds to fill water glasses and take drink orders.

“Isn’t this all just beautiful?” Leanore asked Jerome as he held out her chair.

“It’s wonderful.  I’m sure Uncle Cleveland put down a pretty penny for this place.”  He took a long drink from his water glass and reveled in the venue’s air conditioning.

Jerome and Leanore were joined by his brother Lionel and sister-in-law Judy, and they chatted as they waited for festivities to begin.

“Did you see that cute little flower girl!?” Leanore asked excitedly.  “She looked so cute in that dress, but she could hardly sit still.”

“And that ring bearer!”  Judy exclaimed.  “That polka-dot bow tie was just precious!”

The lights dimmed, and a spotlight pointed at the door.  The deejay cut the instrumental music, and it was replaced by something you would hear before a sporting event.

“Aaannndddd now…” he proclaimed into the microphone with the energy fitting a sporting event, “here comes your bridal party.”  He announced each bridesmaid and groomsman as if they made millions of dollars a year to toss around a ball, and they entered with their arms raised and half danced-half walked to the head table.  Suddenly, the flower girl and ring bearer streaked in, still in their wedding finery but somehow missing their shoes.  They giggled and screamed as they wound through the tables, the bridal party stopping in surprise halfway to their destination.

The bride poked her head through the doorway to see what was going on.

Leanore stood up and grabbed the ring bearer as he did a loop past her seat, but as she stood up with him clasped squirming in her arms, a sound similar to the release of Velcro emanated from her behind.

The spotlight had swung from the entrance to Leanore holding the wriggling little boy.  Her face darkened as she realized what had happened, and she unfolded her arms to allow the boy to drop back down to his feet and run away.

Jerome jumped up behind her, using his body as a shield.  He waived to everyone as if the two of them standing in a spotlight during someone else’s wedding reception was completely normal.  Someone else wrangled the children, and the spotlight returned to the bridal entrance.

Now that they were back in the darkness, Jerome grabbed one of the napkins and dangled it from his hand, placing his hand at the small of Leanore’s back to conceal the rip down the pants seam.

“Well, we hate to leave, but something just came up,” he explained to the table.

“But you haven’t even eaten yet!” Lionel protested.  “What could be more important than a fine meal that someone else is paying for?”

Leanore could barely hide her embarrassment, “I think I’ve realized I don’t need all the calories.”