FashBlog.com

It was just the other day when my wife noticed that I was running out of decent blue jeans to wear. I hate to admit it but I had been trying to hide the fact that I was down to only a couple of pairs of well worn jeans that didn't have holes in the butt or in the knees or weren't unraveling somewhere along a hem. The fact is, I like my jeans well worn and can't stand to get new ones that have to go through the breaking in process.
"You know," she said, "I can see parts of you sticking out of those jeans that really ought to not be put on public display."
"Well," I said, "I don't really plan on going off anywhere so I think they'll be alright for today."
"You know, if we head over to the mall it won't take a lot of time to find a couple of pairs of jeans. There's no use you running around looking like a bum when you could be wearing a decent pair of pants." she said.
Having been married for over 20 years, I knew there wasn't a lot of room for argument, or rather, I knew there wasn't a lot of sense in starting an argument that I wouldn't be able to win. So rather reluctantly, I finished dressing and off we headed to the local mall, or as I like to call it, the seventh level of hell.
As soon as we walked in the door I got the first dose.
"While we're here..." she began.
"Oh no," I said, "We came here to get jeans. We're going to walk into Sears, grab a couple of pairs of jeans and head right back out the door."
"Dillard's is right there." she said. "We won't be in there for five minutes." And off she went with me trailing behind her like the last cow in the herd.
30 minutes later we were still standing at the counter in Dillard's debating whether she should get the blue eye shadow #489 or the azure #522, both of which appeared to be exactly identical to me and probably to every other male within 300 miles.

"Blue jeans." I whispered in her ear. "Blue jeans." I said again a little more forcefully, this time flicking my tongue out and licking her earlobe, a maneuver I knew would get her moving. (She hates it in public but at home alone...well that's another blog).
After getting away from the Dillard's counter, we had to walk past the bookstore. Naturally she thought of a birthday present she had to buy. At least in the bookstore I can find something to entertain myself with. Maybe a book on blue jeans.

Finally we got to Sears, where I promptly moved in, picked out a couple of pairs of 32x36 and headed for the checkout counter. "Aren't you going to try them on?" I heard as I was heading off. "I know what size I wear." I protested. "I've been wearing the same size for ten years. Why would I have to try on a pair of blue jeans?"
"It's gonna take five minutes. What's the big deal? You go in and try them on and come right out. It might save us a trip back."

Sighing deeply, I headed for the changing room. The waist was a little snug, but I'll be damned if I'll walk back out there and tell her that. I wonder why the people who make blue jeans mark them as 32s when they know they're really 31s?

I hit the checkout counter like a madman, wrote a check at record pace, and took off for the exit.
We finally left after getting ice cream, a quick trip through the household appliances at Sears, fifteen minutes of conversation with her friend from the PTA, a quick stop at the T-Shirt store, a pretzel, paying the cell phone bill, a peruse through the jewelry store, another conversation, and a coke. "See?" she said as the security guard behind us locked up for the night, "That didn't take long at all."