Wednesday, March 26, 2008

The Pants

Balloon Before I get to the subject at hand--perhaps I should say, "at leg." Ha! You can already see how amusing this article is going to be, can't you? I hope your body will be able to handle the physical stress of the fetal position in which you will soon find yourself, as a result of reading this piece of literary hysteria.

Ahem. Before I get to the subject at *snort* hand, I'd like to draw your attention to the included photo. That is a picture of me and a large, mindless object. I'm the one on the right with the quizzical expression. The object to your left is a balloon that was presented to me by my former co-workers.

You see, today was my last day at my old job. Knowing how much use I get out of large, rubber objects, my friends at the old place decided to present this to me as a going-away gift, on the top of which they had scrawled "For Craig: A man-sized balloon." I'm not sure if they were saying I was worthy of a man-sized balloon or if they were referring to me as a man-sized balloon.

Either way, I have to admit that I really like the goofy thing, although it was something of a challenge getting it home. It just fit into the back of my car, after the passenger seat had been scooted all the way up.

The odd looks I got on my trek home were entertaining, as well. The classic double-take: a casual glance in my direction and then the head snaps back around for a second look.

"What the--? Look, honey! A balloon the size of Massachusetts!"

Now about my pants.

I attended a super-conservative Bible college in Illinois for a couple of years. This college required the students to clad themselves daily in dress clothes. For the men, it was dress slacks, dress shirt, and tie. Even a suit was encouraged.

Unlike a lot of people, guys in particular, I've always liked to don the finer apparel. Sadly, at the time this story occurred, I had no clue about the proper clothing etiquette. Frankly, my wardrobe did not consist of any real dress clothes. I had a couple of white shirts for Sundays, but that was about it. So about a week before my departure from home, it was necessary to make a trip to a local department store and stock up.

As I said, I had no working knowledge of dress garments at that time, so I was useless in the selection process. It was thus that I ended up with The Pants.

The Pants were made of some ungodly material closely related to felt. They were fuzzy to the touch and refused to relinquish their hold on wrinkles, no matter how much I ironed them. Sadly, they made up about 50% of my leggings wardrobe, so it was a cinch that I'd have to wear them eventually.

They were uncomfortable. They were itchy. If I'd had a loom and the proper skills, I could have woven a suitable pair of pants from the amount of dust and lint they attracted. They served as a magnet for anything I brushed against. I would leave my dorm room, pants relatively clean of debris, and arrive at class with my legs covered in dirt, twigs, rocks, and even an elderly squirrel that had been too weak to escape The Pants' clutches.

The Pants were really bad for my ego, too. My self-esteem, which at that time was nil, took a quick dive for cover when it saw me haul The Pants out of my closet.

"Oh, good," my self-esteem would say. "He's wearing The Pants. It looks like I'll be able to sleep in today. He won't need me."

Girls would pass me in the hall. No, I mean pass me in the hall...not stopping to chat or ask directions to their next class, because I was wearing The Pants. The closest I got to a girl while wearing The Pants was when I was standing in the Administration Building, engrossed in reading my page of notes from the previous class. After a few minutes, I felt something splashing about my feet and, looking down, saw the cleaning woman pouring water on The Pants. Apparently, they were so covered in leaves and other foliage that she had mistaken me for one of the potted palms.

Needless to say, Christmas Break couldn't come soon enough and, while at home, I was able to communicate the problem to my parents. We arranged for another trip to the local department store and it was at that time I purchased The Shirt. But that's another story.


Paul FooDaddy Brand said...

Aww, and I wasn't there to see them all present you with your giant balloon. I see you've managed to enjoy it anyway, and I salute your heroism.

"...material closely related to felt."

That 'un made me chuckle up a dervish. Good stuff here! I hope we get to hear about The Shirt soon.

Anonymous said...

Hmmmm.......I am trying to recall the pants. That must have been why you stayed in your room all the time.
I love the post. Great Job! My balloon, oops I mean My Man.

Anonymous said...

Tell us a story about the Balloon, Mister The Stupid Blogger, please. It's excitingly orange.

Anonymous said...

We ain't skeert.

Anonymous said...

I too would like to hear about the Shirt soon.

I agree that large things like balloons are fun!