My go-to, everyday attire for the chillier seasons is a pair of jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. The jeans need to be of the stretchy-relaxed variety with deep pockets, and the sweatshirt needs to be nice and baggy with a big front pouch. While I do not look like a J. Crew or Banana Republic model, I do look more like a geriatric kangaroo, but I am always comfortable.
The other day when I came downstairs in this attire the wife said, “Stop right there. I want to take your picture.”
“Well, well,” I said, “Can’t get enough of me in person, so you’re going to make me your screen saver on your phone?”
“Not exactly. I thought maybe you would like to see yourself before you leave the house.”
“Sure, I’ll take a look-see. George Clooney, eat your heart out,” I said smugly looking at the picture. “On my God! I look like that?”
“Does a sack of potatoes come to mind, Dear?” the wife asked. “While I realize you are a septuagenarian with no visible posterior, and a slightly protruding anterior, your wardrobe choice should be reserved for spud-like tubers.”
“I must admit, that is appalling. Now I know why you don’t want me with you in the checkout line at the grocery store. You’re afraid they’ll charge you for 190 pounds of potatoes.”
“Exactly! Now, I want you to go shopping for a nice pair of joggers.”
“You want me to buy a couple of joggers? Isn’t that illegal, the purchase of human runners? I’m thinking they’d put up a fight and I just don’t have the energy for that.”
Rolling her eyes at my attempt at humor the wife said, “Joggers are like upgraded sweatpants. They’re made of a light-weight, four-way stretchy sleek material with elastic cuffs. All the coaches and athletes wear them! So here’s the credit card. Go shopping for some joggers and don’t come home without them.”
An hour later at a major department store, I found the joggers in the athletic-wear department. I found my size, went to a fitting room and tried them on.
“Oh…my…these feel great! They’re soft and flexible. They come in a variety of shades of black. They’re very slimming. And I think I can even see an ever so slight butt bump! I am buying these babies for sure!”
When I got home, I yelled to the wife, “I bought a pair of joggers. One is Jesse Owens and the other is Florence Griffith Joyner.”
“Very funny,” the wife said, “You had better have a pair of jogger pants in that bag!”
“Oh, I do. And if you’re a good girl, I’ll put them on and model them for you.”
“Be still my heart, I can’t wait,” the wife said.
Five minutes later I came downstairs in my brand new jogger pants. I walked in front of the wife like I was strutting down a catwalk, slowly turning and posing, letting her take it all in. “What do you think?”
“Oh my gosh! I think I can see a butt! It’s a miracle! Who is this Adonis before me?” the wife swooned.
“You likey?”
“Me likey,” the wife said. “I may even let you stand with me in the checkout line at the grocery store…”
Raul Ascunce is a freelance columnist for the Sentinel-Tribune. He may be contacted at [email protected].
