“I bought you a new pair of jeans,” she said.

I had just walked in the door from work. When I come through the door after work I generally donÂ’t like to bothered, after a perfunctory hello, for my fifteen minute adjustment period.

“Really? Why did you do that?”

I kept right on walking into the bedroom, knowing sheÂ’d follow, talking all the while. She was too excited not to, and that type of enthusiasm scares me.

“Don’t you want to see them?”

I was still standing at the dresser, emptying my pockets and trying to get out of my clothes.

“Of course.”

I knew at that point that I would not like the jeans. She was terribly excited about them and that could only mean one thing. They were something extraordinary, at least in comparison to my stand by LeviÂ’s.

She opened a NordstromÂ’s bag, a tell in itself, and unveiled the jeans. They were dark with pre-made wear spots on the fronts. They were cut funny, I could see that by the way she was holding them up. IÂ’d seen these kinds of jeans before. Very contemporary. Worn by people much younger than myself. People I instinctively disliked.

“Well, try them on!”

She was waving them at me. Somehow, I was afraid of these jeans. Reluctantly I took them from her and looked at the brand. Lucky. I was pretty sure they only made jeans for chicks. Even if they did make jeans for men, IÂ’m not the kind of guy to wear them. But I was standing there in my underwear holding them and she was giggling like a schoolgirl so I put them on.

I immediately felt ridiculous. They fit strangely around the waist. They fit strangely everywhere. I have a very large chip on my shoulder with anything connected to hip-hop and I had a feeling these things may be baggy enough to qualify. Regardless, they clearly didnÂ’t fit.

“You look great! Wait—turn around…”

I turned. I felt her hands on my ass. She was squeezing.

“These are perfect!”

“They’re not perfect. They don’t fit and I don’t like them.”

“You just think they don’t fit. You should see your ass in these!”

“I like my Levis.”

“You have no shape in your Levis. You’re hiding that ass in the Levis. These jeans cup your ass! She kept grabbing my ass and squeezing, chasing me around the room.”

I took the jeans off.

“Listen, I really don’t think I can wear those. I’m not nineteen anymore. I feel like a dick wearing those things.”

She reluctantly put them back in the bag. I apologized for not being more receptive.

Three days later we’re driving somewhere and out of nowhere she said, “That shirt looks nice on you.”

“But you hate the jeans, right?”

I was wearing my beloved Levis.

“Is that all you got out of that entire episode? That I don’t like Levis?”

“Pretty much.”

“So all you took away from that was the negative? That I don’t like your Levis?”

“Well…”

“I buy you one pair of meterosexual jeans and you freak out. Totally missing the point. You're incredibly thick.”

###

This morning I looked on the Internet. Lucky does indeed make menÂ’s jeans. And the prices are fucking obscene.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 09:12 AM | Comments (8) | Add Comment
Post contains 553 words, total size 3 kb.