MITCHELL’S MUSINGS: Forever in blue jeans

Why no I didn’t go somewhere warm on my holidays but thanks for asking. Ahem. But I got a lot done on the homefront, sort of

Why no I didn’t go somewhere warm on my holidays but thanks for asking. Ahem. But I got a lot done on the homefront, sort of.

That is if you consider taking the truck in to the shop, finally getting to the dentist and reading a good chunk of those magazines and papers that were piling up by the side of my bed, a lot. I won’t even tell you the datelines on some of that get-to-it-when-I-can pile, but, hey, it’s mostly dealt with, some of it was very good reading, I learned a lot, and my recycling blue box was much heavier than usual last week.

At least I felt good about semi completing a task on my list, and now I can start on a new pile, cue the Circle of Life music.

But, and I know this may sound a little on the  odd side, my biggest accomplishment over the week-long holiday was actually buying a new pair of jeans.

Now a lot of it has to do with us guys and shopping, we’re not good at it. I set out with the best of intentions, heck even a little enthusiasm, and after 10 minutes of checking out the supply of denim I’m running for the door.

This odyssey started prior to Christmas when my wife asked what I want this year and after noticing the holes in my jeans, suggested that might be a good place to start, even though I noticed while shopping that some young fashionable people actually have lots of holes in their jeans, on purpose. However, not being young or remotely fashionable, likely not a good look for me.

So I said I’d get on it and send her the bill and I headed out to the mall with the best of intentions, including even trying on a couple pairs on at least one occasion, which is a huge effort for yours truly. I even had a couple close calls where I didn’t think they were quite right somehow, or they weren’t on sale, which for a cheap guy like me is always a factor.

So when my wife informed me her sister from the Maritimes was coming to visit, I knew it was a sign from above to help me with my, er, problem.

Her sister loves to shop. I don’t. She has a great fashion sense. I don’t. Surely between us we could actually somehow purchase a pair of jeans for yours truly that fit the bill.

Of course she was more than willing to help, thank goodness.

I told her the mission: none of this “sits below the waist” stuff, although I appreciate the labelling so I don’t even try it on, no slim fit, I am 54 afterall, no funky colours, no holes premade and, oh yeah, on sale of course.

A piece of cake, right?

Sister-in-law: “OK, just leave the talking to me.”

Me: “We have to talk to somebody to buy a pair of jeans?”

Sister-in-law: “Right. OK, here we go (now addressing young lady in jeans store). Hi there. We need a high-rise, loose-fitting, 36-30 pair of jeans for this guy right here.”

Me: “High-rise, do you have to say it that way, I’m not 80 you know?”

Salesperson: “OK, we have these jeans here (pointing to pile of eight jeans in a store of several thousand) but I don’t see your size here unfortunately.”

Me: “Struck out again, let’s go.”

Sister-in-law: “Hey look at this bargain bin. Half off. And here’s an ample, loose fit 36-30, are you sure you’re a 36?”

Me: “Ample? I’ll try it on. And keep your voice down.”

Turns out, at least in the ample, loose category, I’m a 34, and by some miracle they had one of those too, and for 20 bucks. I was so excited I almost bought the 36 too just to hedge against, well,  inflation, ahem, but my cheap nature kicked in and I didn’t (although apparently I can’t wash the 34s for awhile for some reason).

Mission accomplished. Thanks sis.