A while back I shared a tale with you about an experience I had with some snooty retail bitches, and their inability to summon the common decency needed to point out a man’s…shortcomings.

It was my hope that in doing so, I was sending a message to the Universe asking for decency to be shown to those of us who could not care for ourselves.

Now a little backfill. Or landfill. Some kind of fill.

You see, I hate buying clothes. As in, with the heat of a Nova, I hate buying clothes. And to slip into a subtype of that statement, I ABHOR buying clothing for WORK. Suits, ties, dress shoes…if it is more than about 6 bucks you have to basically drag me into Kohl’s by my nipples to get me to spend on career apparel.

The direct result of hating clothes shopping is that I will wear my clothes until they are essentially…unwearable.

Now fast forward to last week. Hang on, this gets bumpy.

On that fateful and humbling Thursday morning, I stood amongst the screams of my children and “Honey don’t forgets” and dressed for work. I donned the undergarments of my trade, the black socks that daily make me feel as though I am 64 years ancient, and pulled on my dress pants for Day 4 of the same suit.

Yes, Day 4.

See, in my line of work, no one sees you 2 days in a row. So I can very easily wear the same suit all week, send it to the drycleaner, and wear a new one the following week. I only have to change undergarments, shirts and ties each day to create the guise of hygiene. It’s about economy.

As I had all week, I pulled on my dress pants, admiring how well they were fitting the svelte version of me, and walked into the other room, all the time working on my excuse to get out of whatever it was she was asking me to remember to do. I fumbled my excuse, she shot it to pieces, and I began my retreat to the bedroom to get my dress shirt.

My wife, who undoubtedly is part of a government subsidized program to care for the needy and incapable, suddenly gasps, “Oh my God, honey”!!

I whip around, ready to bat away whatever huge frickin’ bug is sitting on my shoulder, or to frantically look for a defibrillator before I slip from consciousness, and I scream, “WHAT??!! WHAT??!!”

“You can’t wear those pants.”

I don’t know how many receptionists watch me as I walk away throughout the course of the day. Probably not too many.

I don’t know how many baristas giggle after I get my coffee. Maybe a few.

And I have no idea how many days I have been developing my new Bunner Vent.

But I know that as I beg the Universe for leniency, my pleas are going unanswered. I am only thankful that my wife graciously picks me up after my humiliating stumbles.

So what am I afraid of?

Mostly that my children are watching me, and learning.

Reader Interactions


  1. Thank you for the early morning laugh!!

    I completely understand the clothing thing….its what I will miss most about being a road warrior myself (actually I think it is the only thing I will miss 🙂

  2. My hubby also HATES shopping.. Lucky for him I have a small addiction. He rarely has to has set foot in a store.

    Like always, thanks for giving me a morning giggle with my coffee.

  3. OMG!!! wait.. OMFG!! I would have DIED!!! If you came into my office, I would have told you! I swear… after I laughed my ass off ! LOL

  4. LMAO which in those pants would not be hard cause it would be falling out anyway.
    God Bless the Good Wives of the world, of which I am not one. I would have been juuuust this side of the struggle as to whether or not to let him in on the secret. As I laughed the rest of the day.
    Gosh, I'm a bitch.

  5. Oh my stars. I can't stop laughing. I just want to know how many receptionists (or patients) you think watched you BEND OVER to collect your things (I'm assuming you have some sort of carryall) and THEN walk out the door. 🙂

  6. This totally sound like something my husband would do. Maybe no one noticed, or I should say maybe not too many people noticed.

  7. That very thing happened to my husband a week or so ago – at work. He noticed that he seemed to have more room in the seat of his pants. He reached around and felt…his boxers.

    After the initial tear on the seam, the rent went diagonally – leaving one half of a boxer-clad cheek exposed.

    Needless to say, he didn't get up and wander much that afternoon.

    The pisser about it? The pants were only two months old.

  8. OMG that is so funny. See any receptionist who would actually TELL you about that would have to admit she was checking out your ass! So at least you know your wife still does!!! =)

  9. See, it's bad that the first thing that popped into my head after reading your title was "Just the way I like them."

    I've walked around with a tear in the back of my pants before.
    I know how it feels, when you finally realize it. I felt like a jackass.

  10. That made me laugh out loud, Jay. I hate shopping for clothes too and it is almost a sin to say that if you have breasts. Seriously.

  11. Oh my. I've never realized after the fact that I had ripped pants. I always find out as it's happening!

  12. That's why we smack you on your butt to send you on your merry way for the day….it's to make sure there aren't any lose threads and if there are…well if we are mad at you we will pull them, and if we aren't, will let you know about them! 🙂

  13. Ventilation!

    If it makes you feel better, after using the ladies room, I got my dress stuck in my underwear, so my fat butt was on view for the whole office to see. I walked out of the ladies room only to have a co-worker scream and yank my dress out where it belonged.

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