All went well until the second day. We were waiting and watching as the kids played some games. I was wearing a pair of schooling tights that I had just bought two days before and that I was quite proud of. I let Sasha eat grass as I stood beside her, holding the reins. Sasha was grazing quietly, standing somewhat behind me as I stood talking. Suddenly, she lifted her head, catching the fabric of my brand new riding tights. I heard a loud rip and felt a very cold breeze in an area not accustomed to feeling breezes. The curb chain hook, left dangling because there was no curb chain had caught the derriere of my pants and ripped through not just one—but two layers of fabric.
Thankfully, I was standing at the back of the crowd. I quickly shucked off my sweatshirt and tied it around my waist hiding the ‘rear view’ from view. I excused myself and changed into the only other pants I had with me; a pair of nice looking, but uncomfortable jeans. I spent the rest of the afternoon trying not to come in contact with the uncomfortable seams of the jeans and felt much chastised for not having a curb chain on Sasha’s bit.
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