The last few days were the coldest this fall, here in the (brighter than tolerable) Sunshine State.
That means one thing: warm sweatpants.
Warm sweatpants means one thing: a pair I bought in college my freshman year. The beginning of my freshman year. Twenty-one years ago.
My wife warns me she’ll deny any relation to me if I go outside wearing them.
“Hey, isn’t that your husband?”
“No, he was killed last year.”
“Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry! How did it happen? He was so young.”
“Well, he was hit by a Target truck carrying new sweatpants stock.”
Man, that’s harsh.
What’s not to love about a pair of twenty year old sweatpants? I was pretty skinny in college so they are a little tight… in spots. If I may be so bold, they show off my spectacular, nearly 40 year old ass, well – spectacularly. They’re skin tight down just past my knees, showcasing my most prominent feature (not counting my unusually large head on my unusually narrow shoulders) – my unusually large knee-caps. Them babies knife out like they want to hurt someone. Unfortunately it’s usually me, when they bump into something. You know how it feels when something hits you in that spot between the knee joint and the patella, and it feels like it’s gonna sheer off? Well, that’s the price I pay for a great pair of knees.
The other cool feature is the inseam. Even with the waistband pulled up to my navel (on a man that’s normally a recipe for a great deal of discomfort), the inseam comes up to about mid-thigh. It makes it a little hard to do splits (HAH! FOOLED YOU! I can’t really do splits.) and things like walking are a little more difficult, but I’m willing to pay that price for comfort.
YOU MEN ARE GROSS!!!
You crack me up. You should have included a pic so the gerls could see which “spots” the pants are tight at. Oh, wait. You said it was cold out. Never mind.
Goin’ outside is bad enough, posting a pic on the internets might make Cheryl’s head explode. The last thing I need is exploding heads.