TIGHT-LEGGED JEANS

Anyone who catches even a glimpse of me immediately recognizes the fact that I’m not much of a dresser. Neither am I in the least bit interested in the latest fashions. So, it would surprise no one that I balked at the wearing the pair of jeans my wife brought home the other day. She told me to try them on, and when I did, they were so tight around the legs that I felt smothered. Amy explained that the

pair was tight-fitting in the legs. My legs are so skinny that folks have made jokes about them for years, so it was not surprise that I wasn’t at all interested in wearing them to accentuate that characteristic. The truth is I’ve never been able to wear the nicest, most popular clothing items.

My brother was nearly four years older, and when he was in high school, guys wore peg-legged pants. They were so tight in the legs that just pulling them over feet was a difficult task. However, the look was stylish, and Dal wore them. Jim and I, on the other hand, had no chance of owning such a pair. We both possessed round body shapes, and mine was more so than his. To get a pair of jeans or pants big enough in the waist required buying “husky” cuts.

That term was code for “fat boy” jeans. Wearing them with such skinny legs would have made us look like lollipops. Our pants were big, and the seats and legs were baggy.

Only during my senior year did my body change. Some of it was due to maturity; the other part was the result of surviving on a diet of cigarettes, cokes, and peanut butter, mayonnaise and mustard sandwiches. Even though I lost several pounds, I didn’t buy new clothes. Instead, pants that were too large were cinched up with a belt. The look wasn’t good, but I survived.

In college, I owned a couple of trendier items, and my shoes were in style, even though they hurt my

feet. Jeans were the rage, and most folks wore earth shoes. I sported a bush jacket with a belt that always hung loose. No girls came rushing up to me because I was dressed so well, but that was all right since my pursuits were aimed at studying to make sure I earned a college degree and to perform better than I’d done in high school. Okay, I suppose it would have been nice if I’d made an impression, but I lucked out my senior year when I met Amy, and by then, I wore regular stuff without regard to the latest fashion demands.

Since Amy and I married, she has become the one who chooses my clothes. Left to me, my wardrobe would consist of sweat pants, t-shirts, and tennis shoes. My wife thinks that, on occasion, a better mode of dress should include a pair of slacks that aren’t so old that the ends are frayed and, at the minimum, a polo shirt that hasn’t faded to a color different from the original. She’s given up on my wearing a tie or a suit. I reserve the right to wear those things only for the most special occasions and for funerals.

So, Amy returned the tight-legged jeans without bringing home a different pair of slacks. That’s fine with me. The pairs I already have are comfortable and plenty good enough to wear most places. On my return home each day, I rush to once again put on my shorts and worn out t-shirts. It’s only then that I am suitably dressed. Oh, and those items are from places like Walmart or Costco. I’m not trying to make an impression on anyone these days. Comfort is more important.