The kind of FIM you walk into without a clue and can’t escape.
On the way home from work the other day, I was listening to the Jesse Kelly Show. If you’ve never heard of him and you’re curious, check him out on iHeart radio jessekellyshow.com. Anyway, he was doing a foot-in-mouth segment and invited the audience to call in. I work a ten-hour day, it was late, and I was listening in my truck on the way home, so I didn’t call. But it did remind me of a funny incident that happened to me.
Years ago, I think it was a Saturday, and the family was hanging out in the living room. We were going through boxes of stuff to give away. Most of it was old kid clothes, some toys, and other miscellaneous items. It was actually a fun time, nostalgic too. That is until I inadvertently screwed everything up.
I had just reached for another box and opened it up. Inside, was a pair of blue jean shorts. This wouldn’t be particularly unique except for one thing, they were enormous. These jean shorts were definitely not kid-sized unless the kid was huge.
I held them up and asked, “Whose are these? I bet I could fit in them”.
The kids looked and immediately started to giggle. “They’re not mine…” “They’re not mine either.” They certainly weren’t going to take credit for this monstrosity.
I giggled too, and joked, “Seriously, I think these would fit me.” Soon there were chants from the peanut gallery. Put them on… Put them on…
Some FYI stuff for context. First, I’m not skin and bones, also, I’m not obese. I do work out and even jog on occasion, but for the most part, I’m a medium build. That said. The wife is a dime (a ten in ‘70s vernacular). She was a ten when I met her, and a ten when we divorced. Now, back to the story.
So I yuck it up with the kids by doing a little back-and-forth. Should I put them on…? No, maybe I shouldn’t… Well, maybe I should, just to see if they fit.
They were laughing their heads off and egging me on. Finally, I make the fatal decision to give the kids what they desperately want. I put on the shorts.
Viola. Not only did the pants fit, but there was also room to spare, except for the crotch, a very important fact to remember. While I could move around in the pants, I couldn’t sit or bend over because the crotch was really tight. I figured they were kid jeans, why wouldn’t it be tight. Still, the shorts were big enough that I could zip everything up.
Okay. There I am, prancing around the living room in these enormous kid jeans. The kids are falling off the couch laughing. I’m laughing too. Then, I look over at the wife, and she ….. She is shooting me with lightning bolts, daggers, and poison darts, all at the same time. Her eyes were on fire. She is so angry that the vein on the side of her neck looked like an inner tube ready to pop. I could see it pulsing from across the room.
I didn’t know what I did wrong, but I figured I better end it now. So I say to the kids, “Okay, that’s enough. We still have a bunch of boxes to go through.”
And to show that I meant business—and to score a feeble point with the wife, I took the pants off right there in front of everyone. Oh, did I forget to mention that the pants were so big they even fit over the pants I was already wearing? Yes, I suppose I did.
Anyway, I hold up the pants, look at the wife, and ask again, “Whose pants are these?”
She looks me straight in the eye and says in that low, simmering, angry voice all women have—“They’re mine.”
Yes. It seems that before I met the wife, there was a period of time when she was obese. A period of time I never knew about.
PS – I’m not saying that this led to my breakup, but I’m sure it didn’t help. And yes, revenge is best served ….. in enormous blue jean shorts.
Hope you laugh with me,
L. Davyd Pollack
Just for fun: