Greetings, my fellow port swillers!
Well, another Saturday morning at Port Swiller Manor found ol’ Robbo up early to go labor in the fields. Mow, trim, spray and in before the thunderstorms!
As I marched back and forth behind the ol’ mower across the collection of weeds and native grasses that I jokingly refer to as the “lawn”, the steady, gentle breeze that played o’r my sit-upon suggested to me that yes, perhaps it’s time to buy a new pair of jeans.
Ol’ Robbo is really a khakis and cords sort of fellah, so over the years I have developed the habit of only owning one pair of jeans at a time. I have also developed a little game I play with myself of seeing just how long I can wear them before they (sometimes literally) fall to pieces on me. I’ve even worked out a kind of scoresheet that runs from “suitable for public view” through “suitable for home view” to “suitable for yard work if nobody gets too close” to “get the gasoline and a match”. The current pair is well on into the third phase now and approaching the hazy boundary with the fourth, with completely frayed leg seams, permanent grass stains, holes opening under both back pockets and fly coming apart. The third phase is always my favorite simply because it is always the most comfortable. This fact, together with my dislike of having to start again with something new, has several times caused me to refuse to believe it was over, much to the distress of my nearest and dearest. (I recall Mrs. R finally threw away one pair when I wasn’t looking)
One thing I haven’t done is kept track of how long each pair has lasted. (I’ve no recollection whatever of where or when I bought the current incumbents, except that it’s been a number of years anyway.) Nor have I tracked the differences in the way each has worn out, although they have varied greatly. I’ll bet a chart containing those pieces of information would show something about ol’ Robbo’s changes in physical activities as he has begun to age a bit.
One thing I have kept track of is the fact that, despite my impending 50th birthday, my waist has not changed one jot or tittle since I was 19. Still size 33, thankee. Granted, I’m rayther flabbier now than I used to be, but not expansive. I don’t claim any particular virtue in this, by the way. I’m simply built like the Mothe’s father. Nonetheless, it pleases me.
So that’s that. On reflection, I think I’ll toss this pair into the washing machine one more time…..just to see if we can keep going a bit further.