actual distance from hem to heel

actual distance from hem to heel

N

othing fits.

I don’t know why I continue to pretend, from one season to the next, that anything will—why I persist in clumsily folding things up and tucking them into a bottom drawer to be revisited a full year later to see if the odd item or two might. They won’t. They never do.

It’s spring again, time for our most solemn, annual sartorial rite, The Buying of the Khakis. It is a grim ritual enjoyed by none. Boring, year-old brown pants are ferreted out from the back of whatever drawer they’ve been squished to the back of since the last piano recital. Then and only then can the cajoling commence, the asking, pleading and ultimatum-rendering that must be completed before one and or both of my boys will try on pants they couldn’t care less about.

Inevitably, the pants are too short or too tight, although one of the two pairs from last year even qualifies as too weird, I’m ashamed to say. Who decided flared khakis were a good idea? Well, I mean, besides me because I seem to have bought a pair and made one of my sons wear them. I must have been feeling adventurous that day—or cheap. Probably both.

The obvious now established as irrefutable fact, replacements must be procured. This is the worst part, too, because it combines disparate things I don’t like to do into one tedious project. Buying khakis requires my sons to try on more than one item of clothing—and they generally hate trying on one—at the eventual conclusion to which I get to spend money on items of no real interest to me.

‘But now I have to put my pants back on!’—just like that only repeated four times over an hour, a performance that comes with a cover charge in the neighborhood of $40 to $50.

We’re still down one pair of khakis. I don’t like thinking about that, though. Instead, I prefer to focus on the pair I just bought though, spread out on the coffee table, just waiting for one cooperative boy to try them on and sign off on them. And when these warm and sunny days begin to depart from us as they always do, this year I think I will roll these khakis up into beige bundles to be mailed away to family where they might be forced into the way-back of other drawers.

In this way, too, Roy’s itchy sweater will have more room to spread out until winter blows in again. (It’s totally going to fit in November! I just know it!)