in Complain


Two entries in two days. Shut up.

I haven’t talked about pants in a while, so lets talk about pants. Rob believes that adding pants as a suffix to any word makes it funny / funnier and I tend to agree with him. Today’s topic, however, is more annoying than amusing. Through my frustration, maybe you will be amused, I don’t know. Shut up.

The length of my legs, combined with the way I wear pants, puts me exactly between a 30″ and a 32″ inseam. (For those of you playing Fantasy Pants at home, that would equal a 31″ inseam.) Now, anyone who has ever set foot in a store that carries two or more pairs of men’s pants also knows that odd-numbered inseams only exist in museums and those mythical places where hot dogs and hot dog buns come packaged in the same quantities. (I really hate that hot dog / hot dog bun joke. When I hear someone tell any form of it, I reflexively check the box next to their name marked “not funny.” It’s worse than all of Carlos Mencia’s jokes combined. Alas, I tried to think of a better one, but failed, so there you have it. Not funny.)

There was a time in my life when I preferred my pants obnoxiously long. And huge. The explanation given to parents and authority figures was that they were baggy “for skateboarding.” Sure, I was an avid skateboarder, and loose pants made much of the wicked-mad shreddery easier to execute, but let’s not kid ourselves … it was more like a contest who could dangle the most fabric from a belt around the waist. (FYI – Keenan was the clear winner with his 28″ waist and 50″ pants. No exaggeration. I love you, Mike.) Giant, cumbersome pantwear. Little, itty-bitty wheels on our skateboards. Ah, the early nineties. One of the side effects of this giant pantdom was that the cuffs were in a constant state of deterioration from being dragged around on the ground. It was during this period of my life I first became aware of the inseam measurement, and by “became aware” I mean “couldn’t care less about.” As my pants touched the ground, nature and physics would take care of the rest.

Fast forward to … I don’t know … some point during or after college when the cuffs of my pants had invariably become soiled by the elements and I probably had one of those pseudo-adulthood revelations. “Look at yourself, you fucking slob. From now on, you’re buying clothes that fit. Whatever that means.” In some fitting room at some reasonably-priced clothier somewhere, I decided that a 30″ inseam was Tony’s inseam and I wouldn’t need to change again until forced.

Maybe because thirty (the age) is on the horizon, and that is causing me to subconsciously hike my pants up toward adulthood, but at some point in the past couple months, 30″ has become too short. The initial revelation, believe it or not, occurred when I was in Vegas between sharfs. I was waiting for an elevator and I caught a glimpse of myself in a giant mirror. “HAhahaha! Nice flood pants, asshole,” I said. “Is everything today coming up Milhouse?” Every full length mirror or reflective window I’ve passed since then has served as a reminder.

This whole inseam issue came bubbling to the surface this morning when the outfit in which I was prepraring to march proudly out the door to work … was vetoed by the Geester. Now, I am fully accustomed to her approving or disapproving my clothing due to color mis-matches, but today was the first time it happened because of the fit of one particular item. “Those pants? You can’t wear those pants to work. They’re too short.” Ouch.

Upgrading to a 32″ inseam has produced far more reasonable results, but I am still left with the problem of the cuff dragging in the back slightly. My solution thus far has been to simply hike up the 32″ pants higher than I would normally wear them, and hope I don’t shear the cuffs off in too short a timeframe. The next time you see me, I will probably have my pants cinched up a little too high, but the cuffs will be scuffing the ground loudly behind me. And I’m probably balder too. Don’t make fun.

  1. 30, as it turned out, was remarkably easy; just like all of my old douching balding friends told me it would be.

  2. I feel your pain. I recently upgrade from a 32 inch to 34 inch inseem. Sounds easy enough, but I dropped weight last year and cannot find 32 inch pants with a 34 inch inseem at most stores in the styles I want.

  3. a rule of thumb: slightly too long is always better than not long enough. There is a guy that works in my building, and every time I see him, I laugh at him, because there is a good 3-4 inches of leg showing. Not cool.

  4. I’m so happy to hear (I’m sure along with most other ladies my age) that the men around us are finally giving up the baggy pants look. Hallelulah, It’s not the 90′s anymore! Also, Duane is right about the length.

    It’s hard for Ben, though, because he is a 29 inch waist, and that’s really hard to find. He usually has to deal with 30′s.

    Showing a little ankle is only ok in designer jeans, and only if you’re “emorexic.” Ha ha!

  5. I recently expanded my waistline . . . again.

    Anyhow, whilst out grabbing new jeans, I could swear that I saw a 31″ inseam on a pair of Old Navy jeans. It might be worth investigating, but not for me. I grabbed 3 pairs of jeans and will have no need to go shopping for new pants for quite some time.

  6. fuck; you’re seriously still at a 30 waist?

    [if I get married, will that make me skinny? will my house get cleaner? will my cats sprout wings and eat local birds and squirrels?]

  7. you’re seriously almost thirty and haven’t discovered tailors? it costs 6 bucks to get ur pants hemmed… it’s not a bad investment.

  8. Leave yer pants long, roll up the cuffs, then get ready for curb-stomping goodness. Yes, even at 30. (Was that an age or waist-size reference? A 30″ waist – man, does that take me back to 5th grade…)

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