Pants Cause Murderous Rage: A Rainy Day Story

            After a few weeks on week four of the training program, I finally got the courage on Monday to try on week five for size. Me and trying things on doesn’t normally go well, but I’m pretty happy that I’m technically at the halfway point of this program.

            Up until now, I have looked at the next week and thought to myself, well that seems doable. This is honestly the first time I’ve looked at my plan and felt genuine dread. It sat at the pit of my stomach like the homemade mac and cheese I made this weekend. Or the drive-thru food. Or the smoked ribs. Or the superdog. Or the pizza. Or the pasta. Or the staggering amount of drinks I had. Yeah, that was a typical weekend in college for me, and I re-lived it this weekend. Some people wake up one morning, look in the mirror and wonder, how did I get this fat?
            I have seriously never asked myself that question, because it’s pretty obvious. Just look at all the shit I ate this weekend. But I had fun, a lot of fun.
            After all the fun I had this weekend, combined with my increased intervals, I had a terrible day at the gym. I am at the point in my intervals where I can actually track it by distance. Week five consists of running 0.25 miles, then walking for 90 seconds, running 0.5 miles, then walking for 2.5 minutes. Repeat.
            Well, repeat in theory. I felt like crap at the gym and couldn’t make my half mile. I tried stopping for a very short time and giving it another go. I tried this three times, then gave up and went to the elliptical in shame.
            This was an epic failure, and I felt very down about myself. It got even worse at bowling that night. It’s a sad moment when a ball that belonged to your sweet old grandmother suddenly feels too heavy for you. As the week wore on, I discovered that I am getting sick. I have been sick pretty much since Monday night, and finally caved today and called in.
            I passed out in a NyQuil coma last night and didn’t wake up until Josh was getting ready for work. I woke up the sensation of clothes being thrown onto the bed. Josh was sorting through the pants pile on the top of our dresser. I was glad he was sorting through the pile, because our pants in such close proximity always made me think of the jeans incident.
            Many people already know this story, but it is worth telling.
            Two summers ago, my entire family came to visit in Kansas City. This was the first time my sister and I got to meet my brother’s girlfriend (now wife). On a Saturday, my dad, husband, brother, and brother-in-law went golfing. My mom, sister, future sister-in-law and I went shopping. My mother was mostly along for the ride, since she knocked out most of her shopping the day before at Stein-Mart by my apartment. We got to hear about all the beautiful designer clothes she got at discount prices for herself and my father.
            After shopping and golfing, everyone was to meet up at my sister’s apartment for a grill-out. My husband and my father stopped at my apartment to change clothes.
            It should be noted here that my mother lays out clothing for my dad every day. It is not just a sweet gesture; it is because she is not confident in his ability to dress himself. She always talks the time that they were dating and he came to pick her up in a burgundy paisley shirt and orange plaid bell bottoms. From that day on she did all his shopping and wardrobing.
            Dad puts on the clothes he feels he was instructed to wear, and comes out of the spare bedroom with a strange look on his face. “Do these jeans look right to you?” he asks Josh.
            Josh gives my dad a once over, but chooses his words carefully, because he knows my mom does all the shopping. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen jeans like that before.”
            “She said they were a new cut. I don’t know. I guess I better wear them. I can’t get my wallet into the front pocket though. It’s not right. Do you put your wallet into your front pocket?”
            Josh shakes his head.
            “No? Well you should,” Dad says. “I guess these are my new jeans.”
            Josh and Dad walk into Anna’s living room where my mom is relaxing. The rest of us kids are cooking in the kitchen. Josh dutifully sits down by my mother, because he is a kiss-ass and very good at it, as my mother scrutinizes my father’s outfit.
            “Where did you get those jeans?” she asks my father.
            “They were on the bed with my other clothes,” Dad answers.
            My mother pauses, not satisfied. “Come here, let me see them.”
            Sensing the imminent danger, Dad stays where he is. “They…they were the ones you laid out,” he starts to stammer.
            I watch as my mother goes from totally calm into a fiery rage. “Are you….ARE YOU WEARING MY JEANS????? OH MY GOD YOU ARE WEARING MY JEANS. WHY DO YOU DO THIS? WHY?”
            My siblings and I are trying to hold in our laughter in the kitchen, but my husband, in the middle of it all, bursts into hysterical guffaws.
            “I…I…just wore the jeans you laid out for me,” Dad explains.
            “NO YOU DIDN’T. YOU HAD TO DELIBERATELY GO INTO THE SUITCASE AND SEARCH FOR THOSE. THOSE ARE MY NEW DESIGNER JEANS!”
            I take a look at the jeans in question, and they are no doubt women’s jeans. They are shiny iridescent denim with small embroidered pockets on the butt, and my dad looks surprisingly good in them.
            As I admire Dad’s figure, Josh notices my mother is dangerously close to speaking in tongues and stabbing my father. Kansas is a dangerous place to be so angry. Luckily, my sister has probably the only residence in the whole state without a firearm. Josh, realizing how serious this sitution has become, abruptly pulls my dad out of the house to go pants shopping.
            I hold back giggles as I try to console my mother.
            “You don’t understand. He’s done this before. We wore my new jeans in the hog barn. Twice. I can’t get the hog shit smell out. They are ruined.”
            “Mom, he doesn’t mean to do it. Really (stifled giggle) he doesn’t. Why would he choose to make you so upset?”
            “He just doesn’t care. It’s so hard for me to find jeans that are nice on me.”
            I definitely understand where she is coming from there. “It’s not that he doesn’t care, it’s just that he doesn’t pay attention. Trust me, this is way more embarrassing for him than it is for you.”
            Meanwhile, Josh finds a JCPenny and is mercilessly making fun of my father. They walk in straight to the women’s section, and the teasing ensues. Josh desperately tries to get some baggy ‘Lil John gangsta-style jeans. Nearly thirty years of marriage to my mother has sunk in a little, and Dad knows deep down that is the wrong choice. He does, however, come striding in with sweet Arizona Jean Company black denim jeans, throwback to 1992. I believe Danny Tanner used to wear the same kind. Josh earns some gold-toe socks for his effort.
            Mom has calmed down at this point, but the claws are still out.
            “Where’d you get those jeans? God, those are ugly,” she spat at my father.
             My father, trying to re-gain a sense of pride, says, "I like them. What's wrong with them? They're my jeans." He flashes me a smile.
            My brother-in-law leans over to me. “How awkward would it be if I came out of the bedroom wearing your sister’s jeans?” I laugh and offer him money to do it. He doesn’t.
            Out of all this, I got the perfect closing to my matron of honor speech at my sister’s wedding, a good story to tell, and an overwhelming fear my husband will accidently wear my clothes. Josh has way better legs than me and I would get insanely jealous. He did try on some knee-high boots once and has been forbidden to do that again. Other than the fact I am not into cross-dressing, his legs are breathtaking.
            I have been struggling through illness all week and plan to get some runs in this weekend. I am starting to see some definite results in my lower body. Who knows, I will have better legs than my husband, or even my dad before long.