If you’re not careful, pants can become like an old recluse’s apartment.
By that I mean they become the kind of place owned by an old lady who, overweight and forgotten, fills it with the debris of her slow, sad life. She lets bills pile up and colonize every table space and boxed products from the shopping network stack like Tetris pieces that never disappear, no matter how solid a wall they make. And she never notices, because it’s a steady, subtle accumulation, like her cellulite or her heartache.
And, like I say, your pants can get like that too. If you’re a little on the poor side, like me, you tend to wear the clothes you have. They’re comfortable, they fit, they look good. Or do they? I thought go-to jeans were still healthy. But that’s the rationale of the shut-in. Having stayed in the house, she has no context, and that’s what it takes to know if something is fab or drab. This is true whether you’re talking about home décor, pants, or relationships.
My pants needed to go. Or barring that, they at least needed a break. Being the only pair I had, they needed a substitute, someone to step in when they got tired who could help win the big game. And don’t think that hipsterdom, with its ratty, tight, or faded pants, saves you from this phenomenon. Old pants are old pants.
So, armed with my father’s credit card, I go in search of the New Pair of Jeans. I don’t usually shop at American Eagle—I think because, although I’m in university, I’m not in “college.” But, begrudgingly, they were there. Solid. New. And a size smaller than I was expecting (oh, vanity), all for—what’s this—under 50 bucks? $45! And they weren’t even on the sale rack.
With that price tag I even have money left over to order something from the Home Shopping Network.
Actually, with the remaining three or four dollars, I might suggest a small investment: I have nothing but circumstantial evidence to back this up, but it seems to make sense to me. I buy some Indiana Jones Scratch and Win lotto tickets. You can’t lose.
I’m thinking that because they are clearly only out for a limited time, there are proportionately more winning Indy cards than any other brand. Since they’ve come out, I’ve bought two. And I’m now eight dollars richer. Well, if you factor in the three dollars each one cost, then I’m two dollars richer... but that’s still a profit! Percentage-wise, that’s a better return than most stocks. I’m telling you, go with Indy. Stay away from the movie, but buy the lotto tickets.
Wanna try it?
Send your idea for 50Buck to
stories@see.greatwest.ca.