Pantsing the Economy – or tale of the trousers

For many of us, unless our claim to fame is being a fashionista or GQ guy, like our old, worn out clothes. Those comfy rags we slip into around the house when we are sure no one will be ringing the doorbell with video camera or iPhone in hand. No chance of ending up on YouTube, Facebook or any other social networking site. Perhaps one glimpse of this pantsing might improve Facebook’s stock, then maybe not.

I hate shopping, unless it’s for some new technology or software I just might use. To be more precise, I hate clothes shopping. As does my hubby. The Mall is not our friend, it’s sensory overload with teenagers hanging on the fringes and ear-piercing sounds emanating from every orifice. And, those 3-way mirrors, I loathe, despise and detest. Enough said.

Now hubby took his comfort level to the trail and the pharmacy. Sort of. Wearing his khaki’s for some time, they developed a small, but threadbare spot. A little noticeable, however might be overlooked in polite circles. Then it happened. A slight, 3-corner tear appeared. Still not quite the homeless guy on the street look, at least not until a toenail turned that opening into what some might call, fashionably distressed. That is if they were jeans on some young thing with a tongue piercing.

We were just getting ready to take Max out on a trail walk and make a pharmacy run when that toe nail did its dastardly deed. Well, this was more than any well-bred inner circle could ignore. The trail was one thing, but picking up pharmaceuticals in broad daylight in a busy shopping center, how uncouth.

Off we went. I thought about what I might say in defense of my hubby’s pants. Perhaps we would be alone on the trail, just the whispers of the ocean breeze and the chirping of the birds. No way to interpret what they might be gossiping about, no problem. A couple came toward us on the crest of the trail, I held Max off to the side as if I knew not the stranger with the tattered trousers. Hubby asked them about another trail. I’m sure they knew we were together. No place to run.

Well, I was ready with the trouser defense, just in case. Hubby was protesting the bad economy. He would wear his clothes until he got some answers. If you think his pants are bad, I would chime in – you should see his . . . Well, I wasn’t going to go there.

We made the pharmacy run, hubby walked in with his head held high and his eyes concealed behind his DG sunglasses from eBay. I turned on the Suburu’s radio and watched for his return. I heard no laughing, I saw no pointing fingers as he walked like any other man in unholy pants. We were almost home free. My only thought now was to get up to our condo without a neighbor in sight. And to put those pants where the sun doesn’t shine.

Moral to the story? Some men can pull this off, others not so much. Do you have a tale to tell? Join the party, only if you dare.

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2 comments on “Pantsing the Economy – or tale of the trousers

  1. That’s because his feet are so ticklish that he can barely stand to cut his nails. I have never seen anyone with problem. He can tickle, or try to tickle my feet and I don’t flinch. Mind over matter for me.

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