While I’m not fashion forward I do like a decent pair of denim. Every year I pick up one or two new pairs of Lucky’s. They run about $130. I match them with solid color t-shirts.

 To clarify – I only wear one t-shirt at a time. This probably didn’t need to be clarified.

A few months back my new jeans ripped! Well, I’m not sure how “new” they were. I have a horrible concept of time. I still call them new as I probably only wore them six times. I dress in a suit at work and and at home it’s shorts and old Budweiser t-shirts.

Out of nowhere the jeans ripped hard. I’ve owned dozens of pairs of Lucky’s and this was the first time it had happened. I was pretty bummed as they were my nicest pair.

I emailed Lucky Brand and told them I adored their jeans but must have received a bad pair. They sent back a message that said they appreciated my patronage and to email them a photo of the rip and copy of my receipt and they’d ship out a new pair. Great customer service!

I went online to my credit card statements. Going back a year I couldn’t find the purchase. I was thorough so I must have bought them over a year ago. The next step would have been to order the electronic statements for 2011 and find it there. In the email Lucky sent it was suggested that it didn’t matter when I bought the jeans.

As of this morning I had yet order the statement. I’m lazy that way.

This Thursday I’m headed to AimingLow’s NonConference and I need a new pair of jeans. I figured I’d drive to Old Orchard and buy a new pair at the Lucky Brand store. As I was walking out the door it occurred to me…

I could bring the ripped ones with me and try to return them in-store!

I don’t think I’ve ever returned a piece of clothing. Which is odd because I see women returning stuff all the time. Us guys don’t do that. Well, I can’t speak for your diva husband. I don’t do it, that’s for sure.

Since the jeans were over a year old I was smart enough to make sure they still sold them. Went online – yep, available for purchase. This was important because I was going to have to lie. I did a practice run in the car.

Without a receipt the first question is going to be, “How long ago did you purchase these?”

Ooh, now that I think about it, I actually told TWO lies! First was, “I received these as a gift.” Then, “Four months ago.”

Don’t judge me. I had already received the green light from corporate for the replacement. A couple of fibs just helps move the ball down the field  faster.

In the shop the manager gave me a look that suggested he knew I was full of shit. I silently applauded his accuracy. But I was getting ready to punch up another $130 purchase. Plus, he looked at my buy history and saw that I was the real deal.

They didn’t have my version in stock since they’re fading out that style. We found a suitable replacement. Oh, this is kind of funny. I was basically the only customer in the store at the time. I had an older woman who was waiting on me and she kept bringing me different pairs to try on. Even though I had not asked her for any pairs. All together she brought in eight different pairs on four separate trips. I found the two pairs I wanted, and plunked the credit card down for one. I’m not such a deadbeat I wouldn’t buy a new pair after a favor.

The salesbroad had even suggested a pair of skinny jeans. I tried them on for a goof. When I emerged from the dressing room she said, “Ooh… those… they do not look good on you.” Even though I wouldn’t wear skinny jeans, I did feel a pang of rejection.

So there you have it. I told a few lies and got a replacement pair of jeans. I’m not proud of what I did. I am proud, however, of achieving my desired outcome. It’s like Lance Armstrong. He still pedaled and stuff. Just had a little help getting up those hills.

I think most of us can agree that this is not a masculine look.   I’m not saying it’s a terrible look.   I don’t like it, personally.   But guys dress for women and men wouldn’t be wearing jeans like this if girls didn’t respond.   It’s strikingly effeminate in my opinion, and my experience with women is that they respond more to masculinity.   But what the hell do I know?   I’m old, married, and off the grid.

When it comes to clothes, I lean to the conservative.   I grew up in the Midwest, and have been wearing pretty socially-normal clothing for most of my life.   I still do.   I shop at places like Banana Republic for shirts, Lucky Brand for jeans, and Aldo for shoes.   Nothing too fancy, nothing too crazy.   Simple and clean.   It’s boring, but it looks good on me.

However, I do have one indulgence.   Or, to be more accurate, I HAD one indulgence.   Tight pants.

Now, not the same pants I just referenced earlier funneling out of a Death Cab for Cutie concert.   I’m talking about tight in the crotch.   Unfortunately, I am not joking.

How did this start?   By total accident, actually.   I was living in a studio apartment in Chicago, and single.   It was 2002.   I wanted to own just one fashionable, expensive pair of jeans.   The problem was I didn’t have any money.   I couldn’t afford to blow $150 on a pair of Diesel’s.

The interesting thing is that Levi’s had just come out that year with a premium line of jeans.   They were nearly $200, however. Way out of my price range.   However, I found a guy selling a new pair on Ebay for around $50.   The reason was that these were labeled incorrectly in size.   They were really a 34×34 (my size at the time), but listed on the jean tag as 33×34, so they couldn’t be sold at a retail outlet.

I ordered them, and was thrilled to have a nice pair of jeans coming my way.     When they arrived, they were not 34×34 as stated in the product description.   They were, in fact, 32×34.   Now, I could maybe squeeze into a 33, but not a 32.   What could I do?   No refunds allowed.

Then I noticed they were boot-cut, which turned out to be an asset even though I hadn’t ever worn a pair of boots in my life.   I tried them on, and while amazingly tight, they widened at the bottom near the feet.   In my rationale this evened out the look.   Tight on top, super loose on the bottom.   I couldn’t use my diaphragm to breathe, but who cares?   These were cool.

By the way, can we stop for a moment and discuss this word “diaphragm”?   Why is it a muscle you use as part of respiration, and also a means by which you can avoid parenthood?   I never understood that.   Change one of the names, I say.   Okay, back to story.

So, the jeans worked okay, in my opinion.   They looked fine in the mirror.   Except for one thing – you could totally make out my dong.

I must have tried to position my privates in at least seven different locations, but it was no use.   You could see everything.

However, maybe this wasn’t so bad.   Not that I wanted people being able to see my magic, but maybe nobody would even notice.   I’ve never known women to look at a guy’s crotch.   I mean, I dated a lot, and no girl ever said, “Check out the d on that fellow!”   I’ve heard women talk about a guy’s butt, but never about front-junk.   So, I said, “Screw it.”   I put my loose fitting jeans (and dignity) in the closet where they gathered dust.

I wore the tight jeans for a year or two.   To be honest, I really have no idea if I became a walking joke, or if nobody ever noticed.   I seemed to get dates, and not one woman ever said anything about how the whole bar knew that I was a “lefty.”

Fast forward a few years, and I had finally come to my senses.   I realized this was not a look I wanted to cultivate, even if nobody noticed.   My income had expanded, and I now had the ability to purchase clothes that flattered my appearance.   Also, that fit correctly.   I put the tight jeans in the closet indefinitely where they hugged a coat hanger, instead of my balls.

After I turned 28, I started dating a woman who lived in a different state.   I made plans to go visit her, and took a flight to spend the weekend.   I had told her the tight jeans story, and she had me promise to bring them down and show her what they looked like.   Essentially, she wanted to make fun of me.   But, I’m a sport so I packed them.

When I got to her condo, I threw my suitcase in her closet, and dug around to change clothes.   Before I changed, she insisted that I model the tight jeans for her.   I hadn’t put them on in years, but, quite honestly, was kind of excited, because of how funny this was going to look.   I’ll sacrifice a little “cool” for a good joke.

I grabbed the jeans from the bottom of the closet and wrestled my way into them.   It really was an effort, but I got them on.   I didn’t remember them being THIS tight, but whatever.   I thought for sure I would bust the seam, just trying to get the button fly together.   I was like, “Man, either I’ve gotten fatter, or these jeans were way more unforgiving than I remember!”

I hadn’t gotten fatter.   I had put on her jeans by mistake.

Now, let’s go back a few steps.   I have to explain something because this probably sounds worse than it was.   This woman was six feet tall.   Also thin and fit.   I’m 6′ 2″ and pretty thin myself.

But still, I had put on her jeans.   And they had fit.   Tightly and uncomfortably, but they fit.

She quietly and softly said, “Um – those are my jeans.”   I had no idea.

I laughed.   I’m not a woman.   It had never crossed my mind that she might feel embarrassed that her boyfriend could fit into her pants.   I mean, I already knew this woman was beautiful and thin.   So, what’s the big deal?

Well, I’ve told this story to a bunch of women over the years, and they all have the same response.   It’s a big deal.   So, let’s just say that it’s safe to assume her self-esteem didn’t grow leaps and bounds after this event.   I don’t know if she starting cutting or anything, but it wasn’t a good start to the weekend.   She was a real trooper though, and laughed it off.   Our relationship ended soon after that.   Not because of this, I don’t think.

A few days ago I was telling my wife that I was going to write this story, and she pulled a potentially dangerous trick on me.   She made me try on her jeans.   Now, my wife is thin, but she’s also 5’8″.   That’s not too far from 6’2″.   Plus, I happen to currently be at my thinnest in years.   I tried to weasel out of it, but she essentially forced me to put on her jeans.

See, this really isn’t a fair thing, as women are built differently then men, often with wider hips.   So, jeans for a woman tend to accommodate for this.   Plus, they use different size measurements.   For men it’s in inches.   For women, it’s a size from 0-whatever.   I don’t know the conversion.   If my wife is a size 3 (no idea what size she really is), how many inches is that?   Heck if I know.   I tried doing the math, but couldn’t figure it out.

So, I just went for it.   I was absolutely relieved to find out that I came nowhere near fitting into her jeans.   I mean, I have to share a bed with this woman.   It’s in my best interest to not fit into her jeans.   Thankfully, I didn’t.   However, I did make her take this picture.   Enjoy.