I'm now wardrobe challenged.
Last night, I stopped for gas and dashed into BJs (not a usual place for garments, but I was there nonetheless.) I have managed to now look totally frumpy in the old pants one size too large, and it was time to find some pants that truly fit so Stacy and Clinton don't hunt me down and shoot me to take me out of my misery.
I'm truly astonished and pleased with myself to be able to claim "medium" as my size now for shirts and stuff, unless I'm going for comfort in a t-shirt or the like. However, as I perused the pants in my warehouse mecca, I became distraught.
There were no 34x32 to be found.
What?
I mean ... I'm guessing I'm now in one of the most proliferous pant sizes for American men, and after scouring through piles of pants, I think I found two. In navy. With pleats. Not going to work.
Which totally surprises me ... if you had asked me three years ago if I'd wear flat front pants, I would have laughed in your face and emphatically said "No." But I have learned ... flat is good.
So ... I silently huffed at my new dilemma of not being able to find one of the most common sizes of pants. Should I head to some of the feeding stations and plump back up so I could get back in some 36's. Ye jest ... I'll try not to go back there. Instead ...?
I went around the table and picked out a couple of medium dress shirts. Vertical stripes on one (very slimming, unless your lines bend outward in the middle of the shirt like a bell-shaped arc on a middle-school grading curve) and a surprisingly pleasant orange for the other. No, I'm not going Auburn on you.
God, I'm getting old. But I'm liking the averageness of medium. It's like driving in the middle lane of the interstate (which I so totally do.) Not too fast, not too slow. Just right. Call me a Goldilocks of all things mundane and boorish.
Much like this blog post, eh? Yah.
