Denim, the Menace

I’m getting older, I can just feel it. You want to know how I realize that? It’s not that I can’t eat the spicy things I used to. It’s not that I’m watching more Murder She Wrote. And it’s not that I’m having hair grow out of places it shouldn’t.

Yesterday, I came in after shoveling and said to Larry, “These jeans are too tight around the butt. I think I should get baggier pants.” Yep… horror!

Do you know how long I looked for jeans that cupped my butt? Months! I dragged my friend Emily (co-worker Emily, not employee Emily) from store to store just looking at my butt in jeans. Hence it had to be co-worker Emily since employee Emily could have filed a harassment suit. Though it would have been a privilege for her, so I’m not sure she would have done that.

Anywho…my pants are feeling too tight. For the record, I’ve not gained weight, so it’s not the waist that is feeling tight; it’s just the over all fit. The pants certainly do their job. Larry thinks my butt looks good in them. Plus, they don’t over-accent the front end. We had this one guy at work we always called “The Package.” Talk about a sock-stuffer.

But yesterday, the pants just felt…well too tight. Who knew a gay man could have pants that are too tight? My problem is that the pants I will end up in will be those ones that have no ass to even speak of. Have you seen them; there is one unbroken plane from the cuff to the waist. No discernable backside at all. It’s depressing.

I love being a dad. I love being 39. I love having a butt that I admire. But the thought of going to baggie jeans, for comfort over fashion, is terrifying. It’s the sign of getting old. I’m definitely going through the change.