[dropcap]Y[/dropcap]esterday, I came home to find a brand new pair of Levi jeans on the dining table. I was touched to discover that my wife had taken it upon herself to buy a pair of Classic Bootcut 501s for me.
See, like many men in my demographic, all I wear are Levi 501s. They are all I’ve ever worn.
As a boy, we made special trips into town to buy jeans from a little western store, a marvelous depot that smelled of fresh leather. Often, I would plead with my father to buy me a ten-gallon hat, but he never did. All we ever left with were boring old boots and 501s.
Upon examination of the new jeans, I noticed something wrong. It seemed my wife had become confused while shopping, and mistakenly purchased Levis that were two sizes too big.
“These jeans are the wrong size, Jamie.”
“Why don’t you try them on for laughs?”
“But, they’ll fall right off me.”
“Of course they will.”
What happened next, can only be described as a fierce controversy regarding the circumference of my waist. Things took a turn for the worst when I brought out a pair of 501s that I hadn’t sported since the ninth grade. I attempted to squeeze into the baby-jeans as a demonstration. I forced the buttons together until I my respiration was restricted, and my Twinkie was numb.
“It sucks getting old,” I yelled.
“Oh cheer up, you’re not old, you’re fat.”