Lo!
Your Captain, not only be wise in the world of economics, but is also an accomplished ballroom dancer, extraordinary video game player, fossil hunter extraordinaire and all around funny and amusing guy. And thus, your beloved Captain would have thought this would be enough to satiate the intellectual and romantic desires of his beloved Natasha.
However, unforeseable to your humble Captain, he walked right into a trap without knowing it. Oh, it started innocently enough, but little did he know what was in store for him.
It all started when thanks to President Obama both your Captain and Natasha had no real work to do for about 2 months. Besides which we were told we didn't have to worry about our mortgage or paying for gas any more, so off we went to Missouri for a 6 week vacation. A mere week before this I had come down with a nasty bout of poison ivy, and was thusly aware of what it looked like. However, eager to find fossils in Missouri, I pulled over my motorcycle when I saw a promising strata of rock, running up to it, only to realize I went through a 20 yard patch of poison ivy.
It then became a mission to immediately get rid of the jeans I was wearing and buy a new pair. Stopping at the local Pamida, I bought a nice, big, baggy pair of jeans, perfect for riding my motorcycle.
However, Natasha protested. Not that I would swap poison ivy infected jeans for clean ones, but that the others were too baggy and did not show off "my cute little butt" (her quote, not mine).
I dismissed this as typical foolish female tomfoolery as I thought all jeans were the same. Sure some might fit better, but it was merely a whim of preference of women that would ebb and flow every other day, surely to be ignored because of it's irrelevance.
Now fast forward 6 months where the Minnesota winter has been replaced with a VERY early and VERY wonderful spring, permitting me already to put over 3,000 miles on my motorcycle. Not only has the weather allowed for me to bring out my bike early, it has also allowed me to start my seasonal running early. Your Captain is already running his goal of 7 mile runs which he usually attains come mid-May. Combine this with the wonderful economic boom promised to us by Barack Obama, and your Captain has more free time due to a lack of work which he has now dedicated in part to lifting weights.
What does this have to do with the Great Ugly Jean Purging of 2010, you ask?
Well, the combination of lifting weights AND running has resulted in...um...shall we say, a very Cappy Cap physique. So much so that Natasha, IGNORING MY INTELLECT AND PERSONALITY TRAITS, has now taken a new-found and cheap affection for my physical looks! Discarding my great economic insights and wonderful personality, she now barks orders at me to "take off my shirt."
I feel so cheap and used!
However, simple demands that I take off my shirt are the least of the costs of the Captain's new bod. The Captain's wardrobe has taken a beating as well, specifically jeans.
I had, I HAD, a nice collection of nice comfy jeans. Perfect for any kind of activity. Fishing, motorcycle riding, wearing, you name it.
But oh, no. No more. Those jeans just won't due according to the illustrious Natasha. And ever since this early spring sprung, she has declared war on my "Ugly Jeans."
The purge started much like Stalin's purge of his military officers, except with more vengeance, aggression and hatred. I was TOLD that I was going to get rid of my ugly jeans and replace them with NEW, BETTER FITTING jeans.
To this I had no choice.
And so, much like 1982 where my mom would take me to Goodwill and I would try on some stranger's jeans, with the tugging and the pulling and hemming and the hawing, Natasha took me to Old Navy (that's where the cool hip kids go if you didn't know) to replace my Ugly Jeans with new, "sexy" jeans ("sexy" apparently meaning they look worn and tattered like my old jeans, but cost 3 times as much).
And thus, at the ripe old age of 35, your Captain now has sexy jeans. The ugly jeans have been bannished, burned or otherwise taken care of, and now I can't ride my motorcycle for more than 10 miles without having to constantly...um..."adjust."
So men, beware. If you ever decide to work out, run, tone up and just become more sexy than you already are, realize there are consequences. Your women will no longer desire you for your intelligent conversation, your wittiness, or your knowledge of economics. No, they will become carnivorous temptresses, demanding a constant display of your body accentuated by "sexy jeans." You will be their little doll so they can dress you up in clothes to meet their shallow, lewd whims. You will become nothing but a piece of meat for their eyes to devour!
And alas, there's nothing you can do but grin and bear it.
10 comments:
Snort.
My heart bleeds.
Really.
You realize this is the start of very slippery and progressively steeper slope.
I'm reminded of the adage about the problem with men and women:
Men want women not to change. They do.
Women want to change men.
They don't.
Wings and beer for the captain, STAT.
I feel your pain, clothes tend to be utilitarian for me, the reason I wear pants is not style rather social disgust with me walking to work in my boxers. So I have to wear pants they better be useful and comfortable. My better half is on a constant patrol of my laundry for things she deems "unacceptable".
Where do I sign up for your problems?
;-)
Dude, I've got about a dozen pairs of very lightly worn jeans (some not worn at all) that... Uh... Shrunk. I don't believe Levi's BS that they were pre-shrunk.
I've been hoping for two years that I'd fit in them again, but that has gone the way of an Obama campaign promise.
7 miles, huh? I used to run 7 miles.
I'm three blocks from the beach now. I have to see if I can get back in those jeans soon.
And that's why I don't workout. My comfy fat-ass clothes work for me for years, and there's no pressure on me to look fashionable.
Alas, I feel your pain (bites lip). I've dropped 25 lbs in the last year and have been tragically forced to rebuild my jean collection and my work pants collection. (This six months after throwing out the smaller pants I had saved from a much thinner decade before.) The results are tragic, but necessary as I do not wish to drop trousers at random moments, however both comic (and impressive) the results may be.
As for Earth Day today, your story has given me another angle on it. Earth Day is "preservation of Poison Ivy" day. That, for me, puts the proper frame on things.
Do I get the sense that the Cappy's physical desires are outweighing his intellectual prowess?
You can't go Galt *and* buy new jeans.
Only solution = naked. Satisfies both requirements. If Queen Nat agrees, she should probably follow the same rule.
You have few options, spend an inordinate amount of time on squats and leg extensions thus making your thighs not only powerful, but unable to fit into "sexy jeans" Compromise by picking up middle of the road jeans at Costco and Target in the $15-$35 range. Be sure to say things like, "I really wish I could get those $170 jeans, but golly heck they just don't fit... Pity..."
If she really enjoys the worn look, pick up a medium/fine grit 1-inch sanding drum for your Dremel roto-tool (I assume you have one what with the fossils and motorcycle) Use that to instantly add value and wear to inexpensive and "new" looking denim. If you really look at designer jeans you can see the tool marks left by a similar device.
P.S. What do you ride?
Old Navy jeans?
Shame you tossed out your old jeans. Old Navy stuff is notorious for not lasting through more then three washings. (OK, to be honest, it is more then three. Five most likely)
Don't worry, pretty soon you will have to go on a quest for new jeans, and perhaps you will have a little more input this time around. Good luck.
I mean, gee what do I know, I only have a philosophy degree, how dare I comment on anything --
but the clothing industry has been involved in push manufacturing for quite some time now. Thank God the recession is coming around to stir it back up again. For the longest time, clothing would take 16 months to two years even in vertically integrated manufacturers like Old Navy.
I know I can skip over lots of these bits and pieces because you'll follow me -- but it works out that there's about two years between a problem being recognized and the ability for its fix to pop back into the market. But by then, the item isn't even MADE anymore! (Lots of women know this problem -- you buy a really nice bra at your yearly lingerie shopping spurge at one of the nice boutiques instead of going to La Senza or Viccy's every three months to buy pink crap, and return next year to find that the style isn't manu'd anymore but there are ten new styles from the same brand name, and none of 'em fit).
I assume like other organizations, clothing retailers are tied to orders that began their gestation about two years ago. Jeans for a while now have ignored that a person has two butt cheeks, not one, and it'll still be a few years before the market will manage to work its way back to pull manu.
I think it's because lots of these big manus are overseas (only a few years ago it was more likely that domestic manus operated, but now it's all spread over different manus overseas) which means one pair of Levis 501 isn't even necessarily made in the same factory as another pair of 501s. Again, I don't need to dilly dally explaining why that'll make both pairs very different.
So basically you're screwed for finding good jeans for the next several years. So far Bootlegger has been the only retailer who has been able to provide anything at a decent price that I've been able to coax the bf into. I may live in cold Canuckistan but I wear skirts year-round because good jeans really are that difficult to find.
But the entropy of fit as it's often called is how I explain away the current wear-ten-things-at-once fashion for women. Two to three layers worth of a top, scarf, tights with a skirt? Everything fits so poorly nowadays that you gotta mix long shirts to cover your tummy with a short shirt to cover your chest and a cardigan on top to cover your arms.
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