Something incredible happened the other day.  I was eating a peach.  No, really, I was eating an actual peach.  That’s not some kind of double entendre / porn code.  So, I’m eating this peach and Wifesy calls down to me from the lofty part of our loft space.   “God dang it,” she said.   (Sorry, but we both like to cuss like hillbillies whenever we can.)   “God dang it!  My workout pants are ruined.”   “Huh?” I said as I slurped at my succulent peach.   “Ruined!  My workout pants are ruined!”   I put the peach down because my baby was in a panic.  “Surely, you’re exaggerating,” I said with all the interrupted peach-eating, calm I could muster.   “No!  They’re…