Finally! I have the answer to the universal mystery of sagging pants. I’ve had a lightbulb moment. You know, those moments that strike when you aren’t looking, right out of blue and usually leave you mystified at how it happened.
I had one of those moments back in 2007 when my son was15. I was standing amidst the chaos that we commonly called my son’s bedroom, talking to him about his clothes. He was folding a pair of pants that have giant holes in the knees, frayed pant legs and are about two sizes too big. I shook my head and asked him why he still wore those things.
I probably shouldn’t have bothered asking because I already knew the answer. The answer was that he was holding out for expensive name brand jeans and I was refusing to budge. I bought him several pairs of lower end jeans for around twenty bucks a pop and he flat out refused to wear them. He said they were cowboy jeans.
I’ve come to learn that cowboy jeans in my son’s language, means plain old regular jeans. He informed me that the cowboy jeans are uncomfortable; they are too tight and go up his butt. I argued that no they don’t go UP his butt, they stay ON his butt.
This conversation led to my light bulb moment. Clarity came when I realized that he doesn’t like constrictive or restrictive clothing. One would normally assume that he just wanted to walk around with his pants hanging off of his ass because other kids do it and while that’s true I am reminded of previous arguments over his clothing.
My son hates underwear. By underwear I’m referring to whitie tighties and when he was about 5 he decided he wasn’t wearing them anymore. His reasoning for not liking underwear was that they are too tight. I’m pretty open minded and I find some undergarments to be uncomfortable myself so I could hardly fault him for his logic.
So you see, I believe my son belongs to a secret society known as the Brotherhood of Constricting Pants. While this secrete society walks around blatantly displaying their disdain in public, to reveal why they do it is to betray the Brotherhood thus leaving all other adults in a state of confusion.
Even though I don’t like seeing your underwear or your pants hanging off of your ass, I can look at you baggy-pant-wearing fools in a little different light. From now on when I see one of the Brotherhood instead of getting irritated, I’ll just pat him on the back and assure him that I understand the code.