In my youth I was a contented, emaciated stick able to eat a truckload of spreadable fat flavored goober lumps on sugar-frosted lard crackers (deep fried, naturally) without gaining an ounce. In college I had a 29 inch waist and a 36 inch inseam.
Yesterday was a milestone for me.
There I was, foraging among the racks, looking for slacks. For the first time, my inseam was no longer the higher of the two relevant numbers. And no, my legs haven’t shrunk.
More disturbing than this sobering discovery was my family’s extreme lack of surprise. After making a variety of unnecessary and colorful observations my wife asked, “So what are you going to do about it?”
The answer was obvious, of course. Start wearing heels. I mean, if I’m going to be sporting a round booty, I might as well heft it up and show it off. Then I can buy pants with a longer inseam without tripping over the cuff.
The only danger is walking down the hills in Seattle without breaking into a headlong run.
0 comments:
Post a Comment