O Jeans

I really like casual Friday. It’s one of those days when you can forgo the aloha shirt/slacks/dress shoes uniform and dress more how you want to. I was looking forward to this most recent casual Friday as I was going to wear my newest pair of sample jeans. I bought them at the most recent sample sale, and in all honesty, I didn’t need them, but for $25, I figured, why the heck not?

The sample size stuff all has a 34″/”L” waist. Depending on what it is, it’s either snug, loose or just right. Having learned my sample jean shopping error some time back, I decided to actually try them on before I bought them (genius, I know it!). Grabbed a nice, soft pair replete with zipper (button fly sucks, as far as I’m concerned) and tried them on. They fit good, albeit with some silly patch on the outside of a knee and some silly stiching. Yeah, don’t think so. Back at the jean’s rack, I found another pair, with a button fly but they’ve got that worn/sanded/rough look that’s all the rage these days. Hey, for $25, how can I go wrong?  

Friday morning I get up and deal with feeding “the kid” his morning iron suppliment and bottle. Have to be out in Kapolei for an 0800 training session, so it’s kind of early for me. Pull the jeans on and..uh…stuck on my thighs. With a bit of wiggling, they get up around my thighs and I can button them up with no problem. Hum…guess they didn’t make these jeans for retired mountain bikers with big thighs. I look down at my pants and I can see my VPL. Bad, very bad.  My underwear collection doesn’t deal well with this type of fashion emergency, so what’s a guy to do?

Go commando of course! So I spent the day being very careful to not to show ass crack as I bent over/squatted or really just moved at all. Dang jeans stop about three inches below my belly button, so I felt like a trashy school girl (except for the urge to wear lipstick, eyeliner and other assorted female accouterments). While being trained on a new computer system, I amused myself by counting how much change I had in a pocket. Despite having a short waist, the pockets were long and halfway down my thigh. Not wearing those jeans to casual Friday ever again.

 Moral to the story? If you’re going to be sitting next to a flaming coworker for eight hours, make dang sure your shirt covers your crack!

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