Sonja came home with a big plastic bag. "Look what I got you," she happily told me. She reached into the bag and pulled out a pair of new jeans, the sort of jeans you see young hipsters who watch American Idol wearing. "They were on sale," she continued. "If you like them I can get more. Try them on."
I tried them on. Women always want to dress you up like a motherfucking Barbie doll. They fit. Sonja looked me over as I checked myself out in our big kinky sex mirror. "They look real good on you," she said. I was already hoping to get laid so I played along.
"I guess they look ok," I agreed. I have lost a lot of beer fat this winter. They did look pretty good. I bet Ruby will think I look good in these at the roller derby too, I thought to myself.
I kept the new jeans on and took the Hammer for a walk. It was raining. There was no one else in the park except a pair of in love teenagers who took the shortcut through the park on their way home for a make out session. They were holding hands and did not think they would have to pet my wet dog. They were wrong. The Hammer got between them, separating them like a skilled linesman who had intervened in many a donnybrook. "Get your grubby mitts off each other and pet me!" she told them with her convincing body language. The teenagers pet the Hammer, made them real happy, made the Hammer real happy too. She raced off across the park, mud flying behind her like a race horse on a November day in Dope City. I followed her.
As I followed my dog through the park I noticed the new jeans I was wearing sure were hurting my balls. It was like a drunk horny gorilla had her hands down there squeezing my left one particularly injuriously. I reached down and adjusted myself but it did not help. The new jeans were a testicular torture machine. They made me start singing an old Fugs song in my head - Saran Wrap - rip it off, wrap it on, stick it in, motherfuckers.
The brand of jeans I have been wearing for years do not hurt me. I know what I like. I know what I like from years of experience. Everything fits just right. I may even be getting a little old to be wearing jeans. It is probably about time I invested in some old man pants; something I can hike up really high without twisting my fucking balls off.
1 comment:
Shit like this I sympathize with only too well.
And the recurrent horror of caving in to the notion of old man pants. Uniformly sold in washed our grey or beige.
I bought myself a pair of low slung narrow leg jeans a while back. Plenty roomy around the balls. They ride alarmingly low under my belly and would require a belt, except I find I have developed an allergy to most types of buckle which brings me out in a horrendous rash. It is probably the nickel content.
Consequently my ass is always popping out whenever I sit down. A severe case of 'builder's bum'.
I tell myself it is down to bad posture mainly and sleeping for years in a fold-down bed. That is partly true. These jeans could well be the last stand before I am compelled to fade into the beige.
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