I noticed this weekend that my favorite jeans (meaning, one of my two pair of decent ones) were worn thin in a fairly ‘critical’ area. I was not anticipating great things from the Bronco game yesterday, so I was thinking about going and getting some new jeans instead of watching. I know, I know – like you really want to read about me buying pants. I was really tired after a long weekend that came after a long couple weeks, so I decided to sit down and watch a little of the game, see how it started out, gather my mental resolve to keep plodding, then go buy some pants.
This may all sound a little odd, but the truth is I hate buying pants. I can never find pants that fit right… All the relaxed fit, boot cut, loose fit, I-can’t-believe-you’re-actually-trying-to-squeeze-into-this, straight legged nonsense is irritating. If I can find them short enough, they’re about 8 inches too wide in the waist. When I find a pair that fits right in the middle, they either squeeze the crap out of my legs or would require me to wear stilts. It’s like jean makers decided anyone with a 31″ waist is either a flag pole, a weeble wobble, or an emo kid with a white leather belt. I actually even found some pants yesterday in the kids’ section that are TOO BIG.
So I always have to settle. Something between 30″x32″ or 32″x30″ or some such combination that’s not quite right, but close enough. By this time in my life, I’m tired of settling, so the whole thing gets me a little cranky. I briefly considered going on a donuts and McDonald’s diet to try to gain about 6 inches in the waist, but decided against it because it would just cause too many residual sock issues. I can’t handle any more sock issues.
So anyway… As soon as I sat down to watch a little football, I realized how tired I was and decided to put the whole pants buying thing on hold. I just didn’t have the energy for all that mess. Then, something amazing happened. Denver scored a touchdown in the first quarter, stopped the Chiefs, then scored another touchdown. I was so excited I put on my shoes, picked up the keys, and took LuAnn to go buy me some new pants!
The problem is the emotional spike didn’t change the underlying fact that I’ve been running on fumes and was still way too tired. So after hitting my limit for pants hunting, we headed home. Walked into the living room… reclaimed the tv and sat down to discover the Broncos were still throttling the Chiefs… then realized, something wasn’t right. Something just felt off in my left thigh, so I put my hand in my pocket and felt a little loose change and nothing else. This probably wouldn’t be an issue for most people, but when I was in high school I developed a paranoia in Berlin about getting pick pocketed (or is it picked pocket???) so I started putting my wallet in my front pocket. The habit has never died.
I hate trying to dig it out of a pocket that is too small, so when I try on pants, I always put the wallet in the pocket to see how the pants do. Kind of a real world test right there in the dressing room! Normally, I find wisdom in the practice and it has saved me from many aggravating pocket fights with otherwise innocuous pants, but yesterday… I was way too tired and left my wallet in the pants that I did not buy when I hung them back out on the clearance rack at Herbergers. Oops. Thankfully, no one else showed a whole lot of interest in those particular pants (maybe I have bad taste, too) so when we got back to the store, the wallet was right there where I stupidly left it. Bonehead.
After all of that, I still didn’t buy any pants. Just couldn’t settle. I remember once, a nice lady in the church named Mary Jane who gave me a pair of UnionBay pants that were a little miscut. She’d bought them for her son at the outlet store, but he was too normal shaped. Those pants were perfect. I miss them. I’d give my left cheek for another pair like those… but then I guess they wouldn’t fit right anymore.
I don’t think there’s a moral to this story…
except that maybe you should always check your pockets.
Or that maybe if you’re prone to being picky about pants, you should never go to Berlin.
Or maybe you should never forget to thank God for people like Mary Jane.
Or maybe that you should always shake hands after the game, even when you get your butt kicked.
Can you think of any other lessons I should be learning here?