I Wore Pants

It's true.  I wore pants.  We're not even talking dress pants for church.  They were just regular old jeans.

It's been several years since I've had to resort to such measures.  I own one pair of jeans, just in case.  You never know when an unexpected situation will bring about the need to cover your legs.  For example, what if it gets really cold?  I know what you're thinking, "Jeff, you live in Utah, it's not like you live in North Dakota, where it makes sense to own long pants."  I agree.  You're absolutely right.  But, this past winter it got below zero degrees.  There were actually a few days where I had to wear shoes.  Another 20 degrees colder and I may have considered wearing long pants.

But don't worry, this particular emergency was not weather related.

It was something much more dangerous than the ever changing weather.  You may want to make sure you're sitting down before I tell you of the terrible thing that caused me to wear long pants.  Are you ready?  It was yard work.

I know the very thought makes you shudder with terror.  I'm sorry to bring up such a frightening issue.

So here's the story.  I mow the lawn every week like a good kid.  But the grass around the edges is a lot harder to get with the mower.  After a while, it starts to get really long.  After it gets really long my wife starts to feel embarrassed.  After my wife starts to feel embarrassed she starts to make little comments about how maybe someone should do some weed wacking and edging.

Eventually I get the hint that when my wife says, "someone" she means me.

Another important factoid is that our weed eater is a bit ghetto.  It's one of those kind where you don't have to bump it to get it to give you more string.  That means you can't control when it gets more string.  That means it always has either too much or too little.  That means when it has too much, bits of it break off and fly in all directions.

My wife was off at her quilting party that she goes to for like 100 hours a week.  I wanted to surprise her by having it done before she got back.  My weed eater wanted to punish me for having such a desire.

A piece of plastic came whizzing off at light speed and struck my left leg.  I exclaimed something intelligent like, "Great Koogly Moogly!" and watched it bleed for a minute before resuming.  About 6 seconds later it sent another projectile at my right leg.  At this point, I realized that something had to be done.  My poor little legs needed defending.  I needed to bring in the big guns.  I needed to go beyond the boundaries of sanity.  I needed to wear pants.

I put on pants and finished trimming the yard.  But then I thought of you.  I knew you would want to see what it's like.  You would want to partake of the momentous occasion when I wore pants.  Robyn was still gone, so I had to try to record the moment by myself.  (The alternative was to keep the pants on until she got home.  That could have been an hour or two.   I could have died by then.)

It turns out it's not as easy as it seems.

First, I just took a picture of my legs.  It's basic, but it doesn't really show you what I look like.

Then I figured I should use a mirror.  But you can't really see my legs.  At least you get to check out the bathroom.

Then I figured an overhead shot.  You see my legs, but no one needs a closeup of my baldness.

I tried another overhead shot, but forgot to get the legs in.

My feet made it in.  But my belly wins the battle for prominence.

My legs are in, but showing my legs and nose still doesn't show what I look like in pants.

Success!  All I had to do was stand on the bathroom sink.

There you have it.  Now you all have proof, that I have, in fact, worn long pants.