Everybody loves autumn.
That first little burst of cooler air signals a break from the scorching summer days and warm, muggy nights we deal with in the South.
In our house it also send the signal to PREPARE THE FIREPLACE!
A cracklin’ fire is the sweetest part of fall. All it takes is that first evening when the temperature drops below 60° and boom! The season of fires is underway, and it’s usually twice a day. One for morning coffee, one for evening toddies.
With this idyllic picture painted, you are probably wondering, is there a ‘but…?’
There is. Actually, there’s a but and a butt.
Let’s start with the one-t ‘but.’
But pants. Long pants. I despise ‘em. It’s not a dislike, it’s hate. Truthfully, I hate clothes. I’m not much better with long sleeves, but let me try and focus.
This year, fall came in with a bang along the part of the country where the Georgia, Tennessee, and North Carolina lines converge.
Instead of just a quick cool snap, we suddenly faced several mornings with temperatures in the low-40s.
While it is perfect weather for producing fall colors, it is challenging weather for golf, especially for morning tee times.
I’ve been forced into long pants. Immediately.
This is our part-time home, so we have provisions here. The problem is, it is part-time. So there isn’t a lot of anything, including pants. In fact, I have one pair that is suitable for golfing in.
While it’s true that I will only wear one pair of pants at a time, here’s the next problem.
My weight. I lost a bunch during recent treatment for throat cancer.
I’m now about a 32″ waist. My pants are 38.
My wife called the look sad. I thought an H-word was more fitting. Homeless. Or hobo.
And that brings us to the two-t ‘butt.’
Older men have a problem with disappearing butts, anyway. It’s a fact of life.
Now, compound that issue with having lost 30 pounds, and I’m experimenting with sofa pillows to fill out my pants.
I’ve already bought new shorts. Eventually, I guess I’m gonna have to break down and buy some long pants that fit my waist.
My hesitation is that while I love being 30 pounds lighter, I know my eating and drinking habits well enough to know it won’t last. It’s the same reasoning that makes me reluctant to toss out of all of my 38s.
So for now I’m stuck with these pants with enough room for someone to share them with me.
Sadly, nobody wants in my pants.
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