How jeans fit seems to be a bane for everyone, but most especially for my wife. This may be true of all wives. I really have no clue since I only have one, which I can barely understand or handle anyway. I don't understand harems or polygamy. That alone would give me so much stress I'm sure I would die trying to keep them all happy.
Back to the jeans.....At one point in my life, I really liked Levi jeans. Straight legs were the best fitting as I recall. Now keep in mind I was 6 foot and weighed about 190 lbs so I was a lean Phoenix Bill love machine. I loved that style. And like all styles, they fell out of flavor.
Somewhere along the line jeans changed. Now they are thin, and designer jeans cost in the $150-$200 dollar range. Suz is obsessed with my jeans. Now don't get me wrong: She has every right to. I certainly like to tell her what to wear on certain occasions. The issue I have is that she buys me jeans, I put them on, and she swears she loves them and that I look great in them. And then, like her brownie disorder, a month later she declares she hates the jeans because they are falling off me. Ha Ha.
What is a husband to do? Shut up, agree, and let her buy me more jeans that eventually don't fit.
My general practice is that the "good fitting" jeans are worn on nights out. So the loose jeans become my hang around the house, or honey-do jeans; but then when I wear them doing that, I still get "the look". But I have learned to ignore it -- the look, that is. What am I supposed to wear around the house when I clean the gutters, repaint the rooms, clean the fireplace, and clean the basement? My $200 dollar jeans? Heck, I may as well go buy a tux and wear that around the house while I do all these jobs. In fact I might be able to get one for $150.00, complete with slacks, jacket, dress shirt, and bow tie. Ha Ha.
I could swear that when I was at Mizzou, I was the person who started the "pants on the ground" fad all the way back in the late 80's. (I sound like Al Gore.) When I came back from Phoenix, in the fall of 1986, I had a pair of jeans that no longer fit me. I had a new job in the snack bar @ the Hudson and Gillette dorms. I worked there 4 days a week at night until midnight. I would smell like burgers, nachos, cheese sandwiches, popcorn, corn dogs, fries, pretzels, you name it. I smelled awful. So I used my loose jeans.
And in those days I would not wear underwear -- commando as some say it today. Well, there were some fine young ladies, unbeknownst to me, that had a nickname for me -- in fact a couple of nicknames. One was "teddy bear" or "bear" because I was cute and strong looking. But the other name was "crack man" because my pants hung down so you could see my "plumber's" cleavage.
They all thought it was funny and in fact ordered food that would make me have to prepare it or get it from the storage so that they could see my "pants canyon." I did not know about this for a while until I started dating one of the young ladies, and she told me the entire 2nd floor of Gillette shared this fact about me with great delight. And here I thought they just liked my jovial personality. Once I learned that I was the butt of a joke (yuk, yuk), I bought some new pants that fit. But the joke continued.
I wish Suzanne would find the jean fitting issue funny. I have taken to wearing belts now so that it greatly reduces the canyon factor. This is very important now that I am a dad. Although I did catch Henry laughing at my pants one day when he was helping me with some chores.
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