I put on my white linen pants, one of the only two pairs of pants that have fit me throughout this pregnancy, and they were too tight. I keep them on thinking they will stretch and that they are just tight from having been in the dryer. I am fucking wrong. I keep them on anyway, which is amazing becuase never in my pre-pregnant life have I left my house in clothes that are too tight for me. It's not my thing. I get in the car, careful not to forget my box of chocolates, my stand in cigarettes, and I drive to work.Actually, I only make it around the corner when the van infront of me some how hops the cement guard rail infront of Tempe St. Luke's Hospital and hits a palm tree so hard that it splits the front of the van in two. I stop the car and get out. I call 911. I get disconnected twice and then 911 puts me on hold. Then I get an operator who puts me on hold. Then I get put back on hold. There's more holding going on in this 911 phone call than in a Mariah Carey video, and I am very disappointed in my emergency service. OR should I say grateful that it's not my emergency. Luckily, the palm tree was in the parking lot of a hospital. I completed my 911 call and felt my part was through. I begin to walk away and it feels like I have just wet my too tight pants. I get into my jeep, hit the steering wheel and scream, "I cannot wear these pants to work!". I go back home. I put on sweat pants and wonder if there's something wrong with my empathy that I would scream about my pants when, not ten feet away from me, someone lays in critical condition. Not to mention the fact that if that fucker hadn't hit the cement guard rail "just so" I would have been forced to hit him, and could have easily found myself in a similar state. Mostly I'm just pissed that I have to buy bigger pants.