on shopping for pants

and resisting the maul

How did it happen?

I woke up one morning and the pants that I wore as a therapist no longer fit.

The same pants that I used to wear as a tee vee host?

The still didn’t fit.

It was disturbing.

I’ve worn the same sized pants for about thirty years.

Now?

I can’t seem to get pants over my arse.

I went shopping yesterday. It was completely alienating.

One store I went to had pants that would look good on a golf course filled with octogenarians.

I don’t want pants like that.

The other store was filled with young people.

Those pants were completely wrong as well.

I must have spent half an hour at the mall looking at pants.

It was terrible. I wasted a half an hour of my life thinking about how to cover my arse.

Having said this, the pants that I used to wear, the pants that I loved, the pants that I had decided would be the one style to rule them all, the only pants that I would wear for the rest of my life?

Those pants?

They were put under unnecesary stress.

Bursting at the seams I was asking too much of them.

Now?

I had to dig deep and go to the mall with all of the mall people.

You’ve seen them - the mall people. Not the teens playing in the virtual reality games, nor the old farts drinking coffee in food court.

No. I’m talking about the pale skinned, skinny limbed retail rats who live in the mall.

It’s so disturbing.

The entire time I spent shopping all I could think was there are people who do this willingly? There are people who find this ‘relaxing? What fools!

As annoying as it may be, spending time to cover your arse is essential lest you walk around bare assed em-bare-arsing yourself.