Jumper pants. FTW by she who fails best.

I’m sure you’ll believe me when I tell you this fail post wrote itself. Falling face first is what I do, right? The internet with all of its ‘fail’ blogs and memes is my natural home.


A little pop culture factoid for you: The earliest documented use of the term “FAIL” can be traced to a Japanese 16-bit scrolling shooter game, Blazing Star (1998), often mocked for its grammatically incorrect “game over” message that reads:


According to Google Trends, Internet users later began exchanging and searching for pictures and videos labelled with “FAIL” as early as in 2004. So look at us here, on this Lounge, reclining like recalcitrant lizards. We’re so positively late to the party, we’re ironically, um… ON THEME.

Guess I’d better tell you about my biggest and best personal fail.

Three little ducks went out one day, over the hills and far away. Mother duck said ‘I’m just going to the cafe to get a coffee, but if you feel comfortable playing in the playground where I feel comfortable having you in a group together, you know where to find me’. Then only one little duck came back. That little duck said the other little duck was happy playing in the playground, and she smiled and waved at me when we made eye contact from just outside the gate fencing the playground.

Lo and behold, little duck A said to mumma duck ‘Mumma duck, I need to wee, NOW!’ Did I mention mumma duck is holding a 40 kg dog, a bike and a scooter? Did I mention also it’s started to rain? Not a teeny weeny drip drop (like in a nursery rhyme), but a SYDNEY SHOWER kind of downpour. We all know that ‘NOW’ means 5 minutes ago in 3-year old speak, so I counted my limited options, and grabbed dog, child and ran for the bushes. No time for the toilet. Plus, dog.

It was too late. Her undies and jeans were soaked through. Tears were streaming down her cheeks as she contemplated humiliating nude-scooting.

As I perched on my haunches in the bushes, rain dripping off my nose, I became somewhat close to panic as to how I would take my nude-bottomed 3-year-old scooting back to the car, while holding a 40-kilo dog on a lead, AND also find another daughter in the playground simultaneously. Without David Tennant’s help, that is. The little duck L was returned to us in the bushes sobbing, utterly distraught, by a lovely kind woman as she’d thought she’d lost us thoroughly. Cue heart-stabbing guilt. The nude bottom still presented a problem.

Then I remembered something I’d seen on the Melbourne Comedy Festival not so long before.

Jumper pants.

There was a song. You can watch and sing along (starting at about 1:19). It’s quite catchy. I had a jumper. I could do this.

You won’t believe this, Melbourne Comedy Festival guys, but somebody saw your idea and THOUGHT YOU WERE SERIOUS. They are making them as REAL PANTS and trying to sell them. Oops. They did reduce their price considerably from their originally marked RRP $260 down to only $99, and now, they are OUT! OF! STOCK! So… now I’m not really sure who has failed here. The person who took it seriously as an idea? Or the person who thought it actually looked cutting edge with ankle boots and (this is awkward) bought them.

Uhh.. yeah. You look totally, like… amaaahhhzing.

Uhh.. yeah. You look totally, like… amaaahhhzing.

In my humble opinion? The only person this look could possibly work on is this girl. The one with all the attitude in the world. The girl who says she wants ‘the chicken head’ when asked what part of the chicken she wants for dinner.

Here’s my little scooter girl. Dry bum but soaked everywhere else. Big sister tearfully bringing up the rear, while I reign in the enormous dog. Winning at failing, like only I know how.

Jumper pants. You know you want to.

Jumper pants. You know you want to.

Add your link below, PLEASE guys, and tell me you know how to fail too, like I do. We can toast our inadequacies and dance to being rubbish by the light of the moon! Or something.