The Invisible Inch

November 29, 2007

I need something to do while I drink my after-work drink. So here I am. Not eating ham in the tram with Sam.

While I am here, hamless and tramless and Samless, I might as well tell you about a recent purchase of “mine.” I got some old man pants!

The ten of your who read my last post might have realized this – I was recently on vacation with shepicksyournose. We saw a couple of days that were ripe, so we took them. In Florida. Under the sun. Picked oranges and went to the beach and ate seafood and everything.

Miami? No. Surely the Orlando of Disney? No. We stayed in a southwestern Floridian city where chads probably dangled time upon a once. We stayed with my grandparents, in their beautiful home, in their beautiful community, where the average age is 66.8 years old. And, partly because beautiful homes and beautiful communities are always preferable, partly because our insides are probably in their 60s (I don’t read many books written after 1960, and shepicksyournose knew the words to about eighty percent of the songs on the old-person radio stations they have down there) and mostly because my grandparents are (capital “A”) Awesome, we had a wonderful time.

There was, for me, however, plus another clause, one unpleasant moment. I was wardrobe-ambushed. (Theybitmyclothes).

It was a familial conspiracy, made up of equal parts mother, grandparents, and girlfriend. My pants, shirts, and jeans had been deemed unacceptable. My cries of poverty were ignored, in the face of the (apparent) severity of the situation. They had had enough. A sort of intervention had come. My grandfather would be waking me up early on the second day of my vacation, would be softening the blow with coffee and a bagel, and then we would be going…shopping…so he could buy me a few articles of clothing made in this millennium.

For some background on my relationship with clothes and shopping, see the tail-end of this post. For background on the fail-safe nature of this diabolical conspiracy against me…let it suffice to say that saying “no” to my grandfather (a genuinely quiet, kind, considerate, and non-violent man) is akin to saying “no” to Michael Corleone. How a quiet, kind, considerate and non-violent man is able to wield Corleone-like power and fear is testament to the life the man has lived. You listen to him. You respect him. You argue not. You fight not, when when he tells you that he is buying you pants.

But, dear reader, be forewarned. Buying clothes in a retirement community means that you’ll be making your selections from a line of products developed to suit…a retirement community.

That is why my new pants (which I wore to work today!) come with an extra “invisible inch,” which basically means that the waistline of the pants expands along with the waistline of your waist…for a few pounds.

I kind of like them. And so does my belly.

…ibiteyourvisibleinch

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