Friday, September 28, 2012
Where in the heck are my pants?
Where in the heck are my pants? How often have you heard or said that? You could substitute socks, underwear, shirt, jacket or assorted and sundry other items. I was getting ready to take a shower this morning and was looking for a clean pair of jeans to wear. Off to the left of the closet I have some that are in no-man's land. They're visiting the dress slacks and I have orders from my wife that I can't wear them for working in. Amongst the better pants I even have a pair of white jeans. What the heck...? Why? Why do I have a pair of white jeans? I'm sure I must have bought them some time back, but whatever for? You can imagine that five minutes after I've donned them they'll be covered with salsa, grease, dog hair or a combination of all three. I don't like light colored pants anyway.They always show everything. I can't tell you how many times I've turned on a faucet in a public restroom and the stream of water is like all of Niagara Falls is trying to escape out that one small orifice. Of course the end result is that the water flows out of the sink and onto your jeans. I think the maintenance crew probably does that on purpose so they'll have something to laugh about when they gather in the tool room. If you're wearing a pair of light colored pants and that happens, don't be surprised if it makes the evening news. It seems like everyone will know about it. On the shelf I have an old pair of Rustlers jeans. The fabric is soft and comfortable, but I can't wear them any more. There was a hole in the crotch that my mother-in-law tried to sew, but the fabric is so worn and bunched up there, that I may as well have a flashing neon sign that points to the zipper and says LOOK HERE! I don't know why I hang on to them. I guess I keep thinking that I can wear them out fishing or some such thing. Fish don't care what you wear. If I lived down in a warmer climate I might be able to squeeze into a pair of shorts...if I had the courage to. When I was young that wasn't an issue. I had pretty muscular legs and I didn't mind wearing a pair of cutoffs. Now though, I'd probably have to be drunk to wear a pair out in public. When I was growing up in Ohio my folks would sometimes have a barbecue with friends. Dad would don a pair of Bermuda shorts and man the grill. It was both comical and a little embarrassing. His face, neck and arms were the color of mahogany from working in the hot sun. It looked like he slept in a tanning bed; but his legs, oh lordy. His legs resembled two snow white toothpicks with hair, sticking out of a pair of five gallon buckets. You never would have imagined that the top half and the bottom half belonged to the same body. Of course I never had the courage to tell him. He was enjoying himself and that was all that mattered. I finally tracked down a pair of Carhartts in the laundry room. Now if I can only find the come-along I can get the top close enough together to button and zip up.