Consider this a public service announcement. And, ladies, you’re welcome.
It’s October in Wisconsin. Do you know where your yoga pants are?
I can tell you one place they should not be — on an otherwise glorious autumnal tramp through the Fox Trot Trail and the cool dirt path along the river.
“There’s a burr in the woods. For some people, the burr is easy to see. Others don’t see it at all. Some people say the burr is tame. Others say it’s vicious and dangerous. Since no one can really be sure who’s right, isn’t it smart to be as strong as the burr? If there is a burr?”
Oh, there’s a burr alright. In fact, there are at least 72 of them. They’re stealth, clingy and, apparently fond of cotton/synthetic blend. I collected them on my pant legs as I obliviously enjoyed my afternoon constitutional yesterday afternoon.
I felt a tug or two as I paused to enjoy the scenic vistas, but I trudged on, racing the sun during its golden hour. Then, I looked down. For a moment, I thought a family of hedgehogs had burrowed into my pant leg.
But, it turned out to be the most ridiculous assortment of burrs I’d ever seen.
“Quite a narrow path!” a jogger observed as he prepared to pass me.
“Very narrow,” I said. “And, be careful! There’s a burr in the woods.”
He gave me a weak, nervous chuckle and picked up his pace.