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Show uujjmgiik- ..: "Who Wears The Pants?" a-days. That means that they drag on the floor which is cool if you are 18. I am not 18. I am over 18. I am not going for cool. I am going for covering my hinney. My pants now drag because be-cause I don't have a belt. The last time I saw a belt was when my daughter had too much cough syrup and got so hyper that she smacked her brother. And my pants are frayed for that same reason, plus the fact that my son now wears them and he is two inches shorter that I am. Rather than adjusting adjust-ing the waist, he lets friction adjust the hem. f . , by Davison Cheney Today, as I searched through the house for clothes to wear, I spent a short minute between cursing to reminisce about the time when I was the only man -around the house, and I had free access to all of my clothes with a frivolous impunity of a... a. ..young man with a whole bunch of clothes. I used to have shirts. Several Sev-eral of them. Hanging. In the closet. Blues, whites, one both blue and white... yellow even. Many with buttons. but-tons. Tasteful ones like the one you see in the office, - not my office perhaps, but a nice one somewhere with a receptionist recep-tionist that doesn't chew gum. And there were slacks that, though not matching exactly, coordinated with the shirts in a manly sort of way, in man-ish colors such as black, brown, and the occasional blue, both navy and royal, and a late-at-night-black-blue which was my favorite. And they were not pants. They were slacks. There was a time when I knew the difference. Belts. I had belts. More than two. I have pictures of me wearing stylish belts. Saving the best for last in my quick minute to recall, I remembered that once I had socks that matched. I had a thing for socks. I liked wearing wear-ing them between my feet and shoes and sometimes alone with no shoes at all. I liked the thick wool ones that made me look like I had ankles instead of chicken stilts. Underwear. I would like to take this opportunity to talk about my underwear. I had some once. I think I had white underwear. And I remember having clean white tee shirts. Oh my, I think I've done it. I think I am starting to tear-up. No use getting all emotional about it, because THOSE DAYS ARE OVER, BUDDY! I consider myself lucky these days if the paint I used on my ankles doesn't run when I sweat. Once in a while I will see one of my formerly adored hosiery being used as a rag to clean dishes off, and I smile fondly and drift off while I stand at the kitchen sink and clean off lasagna and asparagus sauce. My pants are now all frayed at the bottom. I understand that pants are supposed to sag now- You see, my oldest son, has decided that since I was such a bad father that I owe him big. I can't say as I blame him. And since I have no money, or cars, or money, he is taking his pound of flesh in clothes. And food. So there is never any food or any clothes. I don't know where they go. I get glimpses every so often. of-ten. Last week I saw photos on my son's face book page, and voila! There he was eating eat-ing my sandwich, wearing my polo sweater and brown slacks. Pants now. Slacks don't have frayed hems. I have offered to send my son to therapy so he can talk out any problems he still has with the way he was raised. His mother and I started saving sav-ing years ago for the therapy that we knew would be coming. com-ing. Notjustforhim, but for all of the kids we come in contact with. Some people save for their kids college funds. We save up for therapy. Maybe once he has moved out and starts wearing somebody some-body else's own clothes, I can take some of the money he is not using by wearing mine and use it to replace a few shirts. And maybe I'll splurge on a pair of socks. I could get used to socks again. |