|Dave Ja Vu: A jolly man in his fat pants|
|Written by Wauneta Breeze|
|Tuesday, 23 December 2008 14:34|
Children, what you’re about to read is a true account of a lame old man with an obsession so pathetic it defends the pathetic.
I have an addiction.
It started out harmless enough, as obsessions often do, but now it’s making me do things I normally wouldn’t do and think things I typically wouldn’t dream of thinking.
Topic for discussion: If I dream of thinking something, do I really just think it? Discuss.
There’s a whole novel of backstory to my problem, but I think I need to make the statement first and explain the situation afterward. That said, I’m just going to lay it all out on the line here for you.
I heart wind pants.
“Sure,” you’re thinking, “different strokes for different folks. I, too, enjoy the looseness and casual fit of wind pants — particularly during the holidays. No sweat, man. And no pun intended.”
Alas, it’s far worse than any regular, everyday Joe the Plumber (you) can really grasp. And as I stated before, it began innocently.
The tale goes back many moons.
Long ago, in my more manorexic days, I was a good 15-plus pounds lighter than I am presently. As time marched lazily but brutally ‘cross my midsection, my metabolism took early retirement and is living off a pension in Florida.
Blame age, habit or society. Heck, if we’re assigning blame, I’m pointing my bloated fingers at that temptress Little Debbie. I don’t think I’m hideous, though I do have a propensity for delusion. I believe I carry the extra poundage respectably.
Meanwhile, back at the Ranch dressing.
In those lighter days, I felt the need to wear nothing less dressy than blue jeans and a nice shirt if leaving the house. You wouldn’t have seen me trolling around town in pants of the wind variety — save for when I was working out.
That one time.
Then, on a holiday shopping trip, I found a pair of sweat-style pantaloons that I believed I could wear in style. They were on sale too, which was the icing on the cake.
I rather enjoyed them and would, on occasion, sport them outside of home — my fashion-free zone.
Soon they needed replacing, so I snagged a couple pairs at Wal-Mart. As I slipped on the first pair, I realized they were only the most glorious pair of ‘fat pants’ ever. They were light, breezy and had no lining inside to generate static cling, nor heat where it needn’t be. ‘Nuff said.
I wore the heck out of ‘em. At first, I wore them at home after work and on weekends, then to bed, then pretty much any time I wasn’t forced to look like I had any pride.
Wind pants though have a tendency to shrink. I am a daddy long legs and if they shrink lengthwise, I’m rockin’ the Steve Urkel look.
These particular pairs shrank after a few months, so back to Wally World I hobbled. Due to a poor selection that day, I didn’t purchase any. The hunt, however, was ON. Lately, there’s been a very real need for the comfort of a good loose, pair of elastic-tastic man-pants. So I began a more extensive search. And lo, it’s been brutal.
I snagged a few pairs at the local retail outlets. My alter ego, WindPants McGee, and I both perused the clearance racks, buying pants that I wouldn’t have been caught deceased in way back when.
Three words: shiny blue pants.
None of these pairs have the same fit as the originals, but I kept searching. And buying.
Here’s where it gets way out of hand (why yes, it does get worse; thanks for asking). I have a pile of wind pants purchased on the cheap in our bedroom. I estimate about 10 pairs, three of which actually get to see both the light of day and where the sun don’t shine.
The ‘reserves’ were either too short and made me feel like I was expecting Noah’s boat at a moment’s notice or contained a liner that made me sweat worse than Kirstie Alley at a buffet.
It’s become a ludicrous cycle of searching racks, purchasing slacks, trying them on, groaning, whimpering, cursing fate and tossing them furiously into ‘the pile.’
By now you’re aware of a cause for concern, but here’s where it gets downright creepy. In the past month or so, the following phrases have actually made it past my mental filter and out of my mouth:
“I’m so glad we’re going to Des Moines for Christmas. We’re definitely going fat pants shopping!”
“You know how every town has ‘that guy’ that has his own thang, like the ‘hard hat guy’ from Benkelman? I think I’m okay with being ‘the wind pants guy’ from WP.”
“My leg hair and the liner in these pants together makes them really static-y. I think I might need to considering shaving my legs.”
As you can imagine, this problem is affecting my personal relationships. If it gets worse, I will probably have to seek help — possibly in an institutional setting.
I’m starting to think a mental ward wouldn’t be the worst place for me.
After all, what better place to wear wind pants?
|Last Updated on Wednesday, 28 January 2009 22:12|