Posts Tagged ‘pants’

Wardrobe Malfunction 4-29-12

My family and I went to the Israel Fair today at Rancho Park in West Los Angeles.  My wife and her friends scheduled to meet up and spend the day there.  I got dressed as usual, putting on a t-shirt, khaki shorts, white socks and black shoes; just like I always do to go to work.  As I’m about to walk out the bedroom door, I’m officiously stopped by the wife and told to get dressed in something that won’t humiliate her.

I selected a pair of long pants she recently purchased for me.  They were snug,  fit tighter and more constricting than I remember the last time I wore them a month ago.  This ensemble was approved by my wife even though I could tell from her smirk that I had barely passed the fashionability threshold.

I spent my day as the family Sherpa; lugging water bottles, food, stuffed animal winnings, sticky ice creams, baby formula, etc.  All the while, the delicate skin on the back of my neck sizzled bright red in my first sun exposed outing of the year.  Happy day!

While my family enjoyed rides with names like tilt-a-whirl, gravitron, and  kamakaze, I thought about lunch.  When would I eat?  What would I eat?   The morning wore into noon, and finally, everyone was hungry so my wife told me to cough up my wallet and grab a lunch table while the she got food.  She has a special ability to remember what everyone likes to eat.  I’ve always been impressed with her talent and she returned with her arms full of meals.  I was presented with a juicy hamburger on a bun.

After eating it, I patiently waited to see who wouldn’t finish their meal so I could.  My wife, who is kind and generous, bought an extra large grilled lamb and chicken shwarma laffa knowing that she would give me what she couldn’t finish.  She left me 75 percent of her uneaten laffa.   Thanks to her, I ate two lunches for lunch.  Happy me!

After eating, we sent the kids back on the rides hoping they wouldn’t throw up their expensive lunches.  When they tired of the rides, we spent the remainder of the afternoon visiting crafts booths and waited an hour for parachutists that never landed.  After the emcee announced that the jumpers were delayed for another two hours, my wife declared that our day at the fair was over.

Still full from my two lunches and not really hungry but still wanting to eat; I suggested we have Mexican for dinner.  We drove to a place called MexiKosher.  The place is too cramped to really enjoy eating in, so we stood in line, ordered, and had it packed for take out.

I had trouble getting my wallet out of my pocket, my pants were so tight.  How did these pants shrink in such a short time?  I couldn’t have gained that much weight in just one month.  After waiting way too long for our food, we were finally ready to go.  I paid and we walked back to the car.  I could barely lift my leg to step on the running board as I got in the car.  Those damn pants.

When we pulled into the driveway, I jumped out with our dinners.  I planned to put the food in the house and then help the wife bring up the kids.  (Maybe I should have taken the wife and kids up first and the dinner second.)  I hurried ahead, and as I reached into my pocket for my house keys, I remembered that I hadn’t taken them.  So I turned around and went back down the stairs to get my wife’s house key.

I knew I was going to hear from her mouth because I had just left her to get the kids out of the car by herself so I could run ahead with our food.  I realized I was acting like a schmuck. In that second of thought, I lost focus and I hit the edge of the stair incorrectly.  Those cursed tight pants had altered my steps by a fraction of an inch.  That fraction of an inch prevented me from extending my leg properly.  I didn’t remember to recalibrate my steps to compensate for the tight pants, I wasn’t able to regain my balance.

Realizing that I was going down, I quickly calculated my two options;  toss our dinner and render it uneateable but have two hands free to break my fall, or hold onto the dinner (it cost $60.00) and try to save myself and the dinner.

I chose option number two.  Save me and the dinner.  Bad choice.  I fully blame my pants for this fall. Had I worn my khaki shorts, I would have had the freedom of movement to save me and our dinner. Instead, I ended up going head first down the stairs.  I only remember coming to with my head pointing downward at the bottom of the staircase.  I completely lost our dinner.

My wife comes running up to me and asks if I’m OK.  My answer to her was an obscenity filled tirade blaming her for my fall down the stairs.  It was as if she hadn’t heard one word of my cursing her because she immediately asked if we could eat the dinner that had fallen onto the ground.  She reasoned that it hadn’t been on the ground long enough to make it dirty.  Being the delicate flower (high maintenance one) in this marriage, I said “no.”

My wife continued to press me on the possibility of still eating our dinner, now strewn over our lawn and staircase; this, even before I had time to make sure no limbs were broken or how much blood I was losing.  I felt covered in blood and I was concerned that I might have injured myself.  I did injure myself, but what I thought was blood turned out to be guacamole and taco sauce.

I didn’t want anyone to know about my fall, I have MaNPriDe, but my wife thought it was noteworthy and spent the entire evening chitchatting with her friends telling them about my fall.  As I laid next to her covered with bags of frozen broccoli to stop the swelling, I got to relive my fall over and over again.  Lucky me!

The next day I slipped the pants into a Salvation Army clothing receptacle.  Hopefully someone thin will enjoy them.  I didn’t.

This video is the closest thing I can find to an instant replay of my fall.   http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zl-kg0o2hw0

Getting by on My Looks…Not 12-12-11

I, as leader of the fat and sloppy nation, maintain a certain look.  In my own way, I’m a fashionista.  My daily wardrobe is cargo pants or cargo shorts and a t-shirt with a pocket.  If people really look around and notice, there are many men who dress like me.  One might think that they have given up on themselves.  I haven’t; and even though my wife often complains about my look, I’m never embarrassed no matter who sees me.

I wear this t-shirt/cargo pants ensemble year round weather it is 40 degrees or 110 degrees.  Sometimes I sleep in my t-shirt and go to work in it.  It’s like going to work in my pajamas.  I don’t buy my t-shirts, they are given to me.  I get my t-shirts from trade shows or from my paint suppliers.  I’m a human accretion disk for t-shirts.  I’ve owned thousands during my adulthood.  It makes me happy when someone asks me for a t-shirt.  I have so many new ones that I can be a t-shirt big shot and give mine away.

I’m too busy and disorganized for daily shaving.  Five days can come and go without my shaving.  When I finally notice myself, I shave.  I go to work like this, every day.  I think some executives might be jealous of me.

Anything more than a daily shower and putting on clean clothes I consider grooming.  Real grooming is what I did in my 20’s and 30’s when I was looking to find a date.  I don’t do that anymore, I’m married.

My t-shirts also do duty as a napkin or towel.  Most days I end up wearing a t-shirt/napkin combination.  Since t-shirts are easy to come by, why not clean my mouth on them.  I’m clever enough to know people will assume my food smears are paint spatters.

Even though how I look doesn’t bother me, I often wonder how I look to strangers.  Do I look like an unshaven house painter who has food smears on his untucked t-shirt?  I wear my t-shirt untucked because I can’t button my pants.  I’m too fat.  I drape my t-shirt over my opened button and zipper so I don’t have to wear a belt.

I’ve had the same dozen pairs of pants for about 10 years now.  I know them and they know me.  We have a great relationship; I’ve gotten fatter and my pants remain the same.  They never complain or make fun of me.  My wife loves to offer to buy me new paints with a 38″ waist.   Fifteen years ago, I had a 30″ waist.  My wife gets a zing of extra joy in her day when she can allude to my need for larger pants in “innocent” conversation.