"Short" Self Control

I have no self control.

And I'm not just talking about junk food (although that's certainly true. Just ask Little Mishelle who I forced to eat a whole hunk of hedgehog slice with me today so I wouldn't feel like a fat ass... although I do) but about other things in life. Various things in life.

I have no self control when it comes to control. For example, the other day I hemmed some shorts of mine and they turned out pretty wonky and all over the place. To the trained eye at least. I wore them when I hung out with Little Mishelle today and forced her to gaze at my sweet yet supple ass to determine whether the right leg was longer than the left. Sure, she said no at least five times but at the end of the day, who am I going to believe? Her or my well trained eye?

I mean, prior to meeting up with her this morning I actually stared at my own ass for a good 10 minutes in the mirror to ensure the right leg was actually not longer than the left leg. Furthermore, as embarrassing as this is to admit, I even took picture evidence to analyse closely. Just the mirror is not enough because looking at your own ass in the mirror involves twisting and turning which can cause pantaloons to become skewed and also can skew the perspective of the observer thus causing one of the legs to look longer than the other when in fact it isn't at all.

So, naturally, I set my camera to the 10 second timer, hopped in front of it, took a couple of pictures and quickly looked at them as closely as I could. I couldn't come to a decided conclusion. Had I just hiked up one side more than the other? What was that crease doing? Maybe that was the cause of the skewiff leg lengths. This went on for a good 20 minutes at least. I tried to stop looking and obsessing. I tried, really. But I couldn't. I tried to sit down and read a book. No, it wasn't going to happen. I could almost feel the uneveness of my shorts legs just jabbing me with their ridiculous proportions and irregularity.

Eventually, the time came when I had to walk over to meet up with Little Mishelle and so ensued the antics of her looking at my ass. Soon I found other irregularities with my mish-mashed hemming job and for the rest of the day I couldn't stop thinking about them. Good God, what if someone noticed these irregularities? What if they thought I was some sort of country bumpkin? Someone who couldn't afford a proper seamstress to hem my pantaloons?

I tried, I tried desperately to stop the thoughts, the nightmarish visions of pantaloons with one long leg and one short. It was so hard. You have no idea what it's like to be me. It was like this worm that had just invaded my bowels and was gnawing at my innards, whispering, "Unpick and hem them again! Unpick! Hem! Again! Now!" It literally took all my will power to not unpick and re-hem them the second I got home this afternoon.

What is wrong with me?

J