I recently went to the dry cleaner with my favorite khaki dress pants, the bottom half of my favorite suit. The front pocket had a rip at the top – guess my money clip just got too heavy.
My friend behind the counter just shook her head; she doesn’t speak much English. She turned the pants over and pointed. I put on my glasses and got close. She frowned as if I’d misbehaved.
There below her finger was a thread bare hole where my right rear cheek normally rests.
“Can you fix it?”
She glanced at me like I was crazy.
I hung my head and retreated to my car. My favorite pair succumbed to my own behind.
I plotted my next move. Khaki suit, gone. The gray stripe is frayed at the cuff. I might need a new suit or two.
I’d been shopping and saving, waiting for the bi-monthly Joseph A. Banks buy one get 67 free sale. When it arrived, I jumped in my car and headed to Cameron Village.
I picked out four suits – all for the price of one!
The young salesman was great. He stuck with me as I pondered my selections: khaki, a light gray, checkered blue and a deep charcoal. He was patient. I’m a slow shopper.
When I got into the dressing room, I tried on the first pair of slacks. Flat front, no pleats. Hummm. Not a fan. Their suits always have pleats. I was feeling a bit encumbered.
This is the trim cut suit. You can handle one pair of flat fronts. I thought to myself.
The seamstress came out and pinned my trousers. The jacket needed a quick fix too.
I headed back to change into the light gray.
These are flat front too! Oh no. I can’t breathe. Everything’s all squished in. I can bare-ly move my legs.
Before I went out I glanced at the blue checkered and the khaki – they were flat front too!
Ahhhhhhh. It can’t be! What has happened? I can’t do this.
I stepped out. My guy was waiting, dollar signs in his commission only eyeballs.
“I don’t like the flat fronts. I’m feeling claustrophobic.”
“Nah man. They look great on you! You’re thin. The pleats are for guys with big thighs. That is definitely NOT you.”
He brought the seamstress out. She agreed.
I glanced once more. I felt my hips, stuck in position as if held in place by a straight jacket.
“I… can’t… do… this!”
I dropped trou and dashed back into my dressing room. I pulled my left boot on as I dashed by the dress shirts, my guy nearly in tears.
Too often I live my life wearing pleats in a flat front world. Sometimes, yes sometimes, you have to make a change.