Chowers? We Don' Need No Steenkin' Chowers!
Ladies and gentlemen! I have a very important announcement:
On Sunday, for the first time since we moved to Seneca, more than three weeks ago, I WORE PANTS — actual past-the-knee, total-leg-covering pants. After leaving my job last May, in which I wore pants to work everyday (as most people who don't work at the Hot Dog On A Stick fast food chain are required to do), I could probably count on one hand the number of times that I wore pants during the entire summer. It was a little weird, and I'm starting to feel like I have way too many pairs of pants and not enough shorts — especially since my favorite pair of shorts got ruined this summer thanks to a freak accident involving some Boudreaux's Butt Paste. (Yes, it was from Connor's diaper and yes it is impossible to get out of clothing.)
A few years back, I had a few friends that decided that they didn't want to wear pants for an entire year (even during a trip to New Jersey, in which we encountered heavy snow). At the time, I thought it was more of a test of endurance. Now I see it as something entirely different. It says something about a person when they can wear shorts whenever they want. It means that their lives are structured so that they don't have to dress any particular way. These friends of mine were cooks, warehouse workers and mechanics. They weren't required to meet with customers/clients/etc, and their style of dress in no way affected perceptions about their work ethics. Now, I feel like I'm in a similar situation. Prior to this, I've only had one job (janitor) where it didn't matter how I dressed. Connor doesn't care whether I've got camo shorts on (which I do, most of the time) or whether I've got a shirt on at all. Actually, though, I can't not wear a shirt around him because he rams his finger so hard in my bellybutton, that it hurts...a lot.
Also, at present, I'm going on 48 hours with no shower (but I have shaved my facial hair, thank you very much). It's not that I'm falling apart, I just didn't have time to take a shower yesterday. Uh, okay, I did technically have time, but I kept putting it off. Jeez, I gotta to bathe before this kid wakes up.
On Sunday, for the first time since we moved to Seneca, more than three weeks ago, I WORE PANTS — actual past-the-knee, total-leg-covering pants. After leaving my job last May, in which I wore pants to work everyday (as most people who don't work at the Hot Dog On A Stick fast food chain are required to do), I could probably count on one hand the number of times that I wore pants during the entire summer. It was a little weird, and I'm starting to feel like I have way too many pairs of pants and not enough shorts — especially since my favorite pair of shorts got ruined this summer thanks to a freak accident involving some Boudreaux's Butt Paste. (Yes, it was from Connor's diaper and yes it is impossible to get out of clothing.)
A few years back, I had a few friends that decided that they didn't want to wear pants for an entire year (even during a trip to New Jersey, in which we encountered heavy snow). At the time, I thought it was more of a test of endurance. Now I see it as something entirely different. It says something about a person when they can wear shorts whenever they want. It means that their lives are structured so that they don't have to dress any particular way. These friends of mine were cooks, warehouse workers and mechanics. They weren't required to meet with customers/clients/etc, and their style of dress in no way affected perceptions about their work ethics. Now, I feel like I'm in a similar situation. Prior to this, I've only had one job (janitor) where it didn't matter how I dressed. Connor doesn't care whether I've got camo shorts on (which I do, most of the time) or whether I've got a shirt on at all. Actually, though, I can't not wear a shirt around him because he rams his finger so hard in my bellybutton, that it hurts...a lot.
Also, at present, I'm going on 48 hours with no shower (but I have shaved my facial hair, thank you very much). It's not that I'm falling apart, I just didn't have time to take a shower yesterday. Uh, okay, I did technically have time, but I kept putting it off. Jeez, I gotta to bathe before this kid wakes up.
posted by Carter at 9:27 AM
4 Comments:
It's called the housewife syndrome. Sweats, uncombed hair, (no makeup). Fight it.
Tony,
Funny you should say that. Your wife is actually the one that gave me those shorts.
that is crazy. i honestly have no recollection of that... and i usually have a pretty damn good memory. did this happen at the dixon compound? it must have. weird.
Jill, Yeah, totally. The day you moved out you were throwing a bunch of stuff out. You offered me a pair of green Levi's cargo shorts that I wore the crap out of...until they got ruined with butt paste. It was tragic, I tell you.
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