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.
]]>When I was eighteen my friend Carter had written a bunch of poems at his high school. He went to a fancy prep school where they fostered and encouraged creativity. I went to a Catholic school. Enough said.
Carter was not in the drama club, didn’t own a black piece of clothing, and would be described as “very masculine.” I went through his poems. They were damned good.
I had hardly ever read a poem much less penned one. Being inspired by my friend, I thought I would give it a shot. We both liked each other’s writings and made two copies of a co-authored poem collection. It was called Under Construction and Carter drew the front cover and I the back. We produced all the content and got the thing published at Kinkos.
I’ve never studied poetry. I don’t understand rhyme schemes or couplets or any of that metered crap. It’s a whole thing and I’m not interested. Once I bought the collected works of Emily Dickinson and made it three poems in before getting bored.
Toward the end of college I decided to try another volume of poetry. I worked on it for about six months and completed Ballads, Fortunes, and Other Vices. Much of it is poop but I’m proud of a few pieces. This is probably the best poem I’ve ever written. If you don’t like it, you can go munch on dog boogers.
Written in this backward dream
The oceans spring of innocence
And further down than it may seem
This practiced fear inheritanceMaster teach of armored spells
The curtains drawn on yesterday
And after night falls into now
The wind picks up and sweeps away
I was on a roll (a self-published author of TWO poetry volumes)! I decided to try something ambitious for my next collection. I spent a solid year writing regularly about whatever was going on in my life at the time. I amassed a hundred poems and whittled them down into thirty or so for The Now Project.
I was deeply in love at the time and there is a lot of, “I’m so hurt! No, wait, I love you! But you’re so cruel! Don’t leave me!” writings. It’s embarrassing. Here’s one from the book.
Thankful beauty follows near
for winter’s smile treats vested space
As quickly she could disappear
with my regrets to take her place
Not exactly Robert Herrick. But I wasn’t obsessed with virgins like him. I only had a mean girlfriend muse.
I have not written a poem since The Now Project. I thought I’d dust these off to see what was in my head fifteen years ago. Lots of loneliness, apparently. You don’t spend a year writing poems if you’re going out on dates and crashing beer blasts. These poems are more depressing than that poster in my high school of Mother Teresa asking teens who are going to abort to “Give them to her, instead.”
I don’t think anyone in my class ever gave her one now that I’m thinking about it.
