Fading With The Jeans Leigh bought a pair of jeans yesterday. This is really an event because she buys jeans only when she has to, which is once every one or two years. “They fit really well,” she said. “I should have bought two.” “I have to go over to Sam Goody’s to return my video “Night of the Living Dead” for some other great campy film,” I said. “You’re welcome to go with me.” She nodded. Then I realized what I’d just done. “Um, you’re just going to pick another pair of the same jeans, right? We loaded the dogs, who love to ride, and headed over to the mall. When we parked, I said, “You’re just going in and getting another pair like the ones you have.” It was one of those statements barely covering a fearful question. “Yes, I’m just going in for another pair.” We walked toward the entrance. “Do you have your cell phone and do you have it on and is it somewhere you can hear it?” I asked. I had thought cell phones were going to save men whose wives get lost in the mall and don’t want to come out and the man sits on an iron bench and watches heavy old women waddling to the next store and teenagers with so many metal rings implanted around their heads that they will never fly again. I went to Sam Goody’s and looked at the Killer Creatures collection. Science fiction classics collection. Slapstick collection. I Love Lucy. So many choices. I ran into some people I know and we chatted. Finally, after a half hour, I called Leigh. “Hello?” “Are you done?” “Give me five minutes.” I don’t know why, after all these years, I take her at her word. I walked down to Meyers and looked at the computer magazines. I trekked back to Sears and looked around the women’s department as she’d instructed me to do. No Leigh. I went out to the center court and sat down. I waited. And waited. I looked at lean young girls with tops that came down to their bellies and studied the tattoos on their backs. I watched older girls with very high heels that made their thighs and calves taut like really well-built dancers and hookers. Time went by. I began to age. So did the girls. Some appeared with strollers containing sleeping babies. Others had grown heavy which distorted their tattoos. In others, the rings in their noses were rusting, giving the faces an antique look. I realized if I waited any longer, the young girls would be grandmothers. If this took any longer, everyone on “Lost” would be found. I would be too old watch my Killer Creatures box set! Back in Sears I called Leigh. “Yes?” She answered. “Where are you?” “In the dressing room. Be out in a minute.” How could it take so long to pick out the same pair of jeans?” I asked myself. “How could it take so long to pick out the same pair of jeans?” I asked her after she emerged from the dressing room, which I’m convinced is a big capsule where all time stops. “Every pair is different,” she said as if at least every female in the world knew this. Not one male in America , no matter how many times they’ve been told, remembers this. “Besides, I found a really nice blouse that’s on sale and I don’t have any good business blouses.” I nodded, slowly to hide -- but really in a passive aggressive way, to show –my impatience. “Just let me pay for these.” She did. The wait wasn’t too long . . .but no! She returned. “These blouses are five dollars less than the sale tag says! I’m going to pick out another one!” I felt my pulse, knowing I was stroke material. Finally, the deal was done and we left. I went back over the initial conversation. “You’re just going in to buy another pair of the same kind of jeans.” “Yes.” In my male mind that meant 10 minutes. That, of course, couldn’t be more wrong. But I fall for it every time.
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