I Can’t Win
In order to make what I am writing about at the bottom, I have to first revisit a story from A Beautiful Hell.
It’ll make sense in a little bit, so just humor me and enjoy:
“Dress Pants”
So I go to buy new pants. Dress pants. “Slacks,” I hear them called. I do not care for this word, but at 43 one can get away with comfortable jeans with holes in the knee for only so long. So: new dress pants.
I like Land’s End. Sears, just up the street, carries Land’s End. Land’s End dress pants. The aforementioned “slacks.” So, into Sears I go, only to discover that, apparently, according to the bright happy folks in the Land’s End Sizing Department, I don’t exist.
I look and look and look and drift precariously close to the shelf displaying the sturdy Dockers (which I like, but which will also only get…well…you know…The Look if I bring them home).
So I call Wife.
Not for a shoulder to crrryyyy on….not for mooorrral suppooooort….
Actually, I call her because I’m going to tell her I’m now at another store over on such-and-such street and that I might be a little longer than expected.
But…before I can tell her that she, hearing my brief rant about Land’s End and their pure, virulent hatred for men with my waist size, says to me…
…and I quote: “Well, just go over to the Junior Boys department and look there.”
As God is my witness she said this to me.
A phone conversation which was, up to this point, mild and conducted in hushed, respectable tones instantly mutated into, “OH, WE’RE GOING TO PRETEND YOU DID NOT JUST SAY THAT!”
She was serious. But then she started laughing at me going off like the Fourth of July.
I ended the phone call. When Dapper Sales Guy at the other store walked up to me offering his Dapper Sales Help, he was taken aback slightly with my answer to his question, “sooOOOoooo, where we at tonight?” My answer being, “I’m in hell. Can you fit me?”
Long story short, this store loves me. This store believes I exist. This store stands tall and announces to the world: “Yes, dammit! We WILL dress Todd in SLACKS!”
“…wait. Did you just call them…slacks?”
“Yes. Is that a problem, sir?”
“No. Not at all. I’ll take two.”
—
Okay. Now.
Let’s talk about the new glasses. And, no, they’re not (big quotes in the air) “bifocals.” They’re (big quotes in the air again) “progressive lenses.” Which is HipSpeak for This Is Going To Cost Your More Than Your Mortgage.
So yesterday I go and get my eyes checked. Every test in the world. The eyes are doing well, so that’s good news. But not so well that the infamous mid-forties doesn’t have a say-so. Not the end of the world. And, so, far-sightedness. Also not the end of the world.
I didn’t have time to pick out new frames and wait around so I decided I’d head back over there today—and take Cute Redhead with me so I could get her help. Not that I didn’t feel I could pick them out myself. But we’re talking marriage here, right? And that means Cute Redhead, like all you wives (don’t even pretend this isn’t true), reserves the right to lie right through her teeth about liking the new frames. Which she did for the last year and a half about the ones I’ve had…but I didn’t find that out until last week. Nice waltz.
So there we are in the shop looking over the possibilities, which, you’ll be interested to know, are quite limited due to the required depth of the lens. Meaning it needs to be a certain size in order to accommodate the (say it with me) “progressive lens.”
What.Ever.
Me: “I like these.”
Her: “Mm. No.”
Her: “How about these?”
Me: “Ah. NO.”
Me: “Hm. These might not be so *puts them on* OhLordNo.”
Her: “I like this color.”
Me: “Not happening.”
Me: “What about these?”
Her: “Mm. Uh uh. Hey! Try these! These are a good size for your face!”
Me: “Maybe. If I was hoping to signal passing aircraft with them. Next.”
Me: “I wish my face wasn’t so narrow. Do you think my face is too narrow? I think my face is too narrow.”
Her: “Here. Try these on.”
Me: “…Um. Do you hate me?”
Her: “Sigh. You know what you should do! Right over there are some kids gla—”
Me: “OH, WE’RE GOING TO PRETEND YOU DID NOT JUST SAY THAT!”
Her: “No, really lol! You can just SEE if they’re any tha—”
Me: “You. Can. Leave. Now.”
So, I land on the ones in the photograph. Prada for those who care (I don’t). And though I tried to keep costs under the national debt, the rest of the experiment played out like this:
Salesperson Lady: “Ewwwkay, so that’s the fraaaaAAAaammmes…*click click click on register computer*…and the leeeEEeennnses….*click click*…and the Whatever It Was She Called It I Don’t Remember But It’s So They Don’t ScraaaaAAAAaaatch…*beep boop beep*. Alrighty then, that’ll be just $Obscene Amount.95.
“Um. What?”
“$Obscene Amount.95.”
“What did I just buy, The Hubble Telescope?”
“WeeeEEeeell, let’s take a loooOOok, we have the fraaaAAAaammes…”
“Okay, first of all: is this really your voice or are you auditioning right now for some Nickelodean Preschool Wiggle-type show? Second of all, I just need bifocals, not transplants.”
“You mean progressive lenses.”
“I mean shoot me.”
you are living our life! hahaa
And paying for it too, apparently…these things are expensive geEEez!
Well it’s really a good thing you have those super powers bud cause now you look like clark kent
(Was trying not to say it.)
LOL: Looking like Clark Kent… I think you look better with them.
And, yes, progressive lens are not cheap at all…Just imagine they cost in Euros LOL.
But I think you wanted to change the frames long time ago and now you have found the perfect excuse. And you had to chose an Italian brand… Yeah, you don’t care. At. All.
You. Mr washboard abs and board shoulders and tiny little waist that have to find slacks on the Kid section…Yeah.
But they suits you great. Even though you amy have to change them.
Welcome to the “Closer to 50 than 40 Club”!! And don’t bitch too much about the progressives…just start saving for Miracle Ears!
Well…not so fast lol. Stand by for the rest of the story…
Washboard abs? Board shoulders? Tiny little waist? You didn’t describe Clark Kent. You described a Ken® doll lol.
OK, what’s the difference between the cartoon and the doll? Oh, I’ve got it! The “T” ot Todd… What was I thinking?…lol