Hubs has always had a hankering for a pair of red pants.
His reasoning is sound: we have a Christmas party every year and he thinks the red pants would be festive. I can’t argue with that.
The problem is he doesn’t want to pay for a pair of pants he’d wear once a year. He has this philosophy, you see, that everything he owns should be worn until it has attained the look of, well, rags. And I’m sure it’s disturbing to him that with that kind of thinking, the red pants he buys now and wears once a year could very well outlast him.
Of course, all of these thoughts went out the window when he found a pair of red pants on sale at Lands' End online last summer for a mere ten dollars.
“I don’t know,” I said, squinting at the computer monitor. “They look a little bright. I was thinking of more of a cranberry red.”
“But they’re only ten dollars,” he said, unable to tear his eyes from the screen as visions of being the, uh, best pants wearer at the Christmas party danced in his head.
“You’re right,” I said. “Get them. You can’t go wrong with ten dollar pants.”
As it turns out, though? You can.
“Look,” Hubs said, frowning, as he held the pants up to the light after they’d arrived.
“They’re … coral!” I said.
“I know,” he said glumly.
“You can’t wear those to the Christmas party! Send them back!”
“But they were only ten dollars,” he said. “That’s more trouble than it’s worth. I’ll find a use for them,” he said over his shoulder as he carried the pants upstairs. “I’ll wear them to work.” I stared at him, aghast.
“Ha ha!” I shouted futilely. “Very funny!” He didn’t answer, but I hoped he got the message.
He didn’t.
A few weeks later, he came downstairs dressed for work in the coral pants and a Cookie Monster–blue shirt. Hubs has what I would term an “interesting” fashion sense and normally I try to leave him alone. But this, this, was too much. People at work would know that I let him leave the house looking like that. My reputation would be shot.
