I have long been a fan of exercise.
Well, physical activity.
Well, okay, walking.
Not in one of those obnoxious, muscle flexing in public, guilt-tripping ways (except, maybe for that ten years I was being paid to do so, and even then I ate chocolate sundaes for breakfast sometimes).
But I do like to walk whenever and wherever possible.
I also do my best to do a real, proper, exercisey type walk whenever the opportunity arises. Like when I can convince Grumpy Pants to do the school thing and I put on my trackies and oversized t-shirt and a jacket that never, ever has pockets big enough to hold my keys and/or phone and off I go.
I suspect I closely resemble Ned Flanders on a brisk walk. Only with a physique that is remarkably Homer-Simpsonesque. I’m working on it.
It has also been some considerable time since I purchased myself appropriate leg wear for such expeditions (i.e. 20-30 minute walks). Some of my pants are almost as old as, if not older, than Monkey Boy. They are what is known as Falling To Bits.
The elastic is still fitting snuggly – rather too snuggly if you ask me – around my waist. The problem lies in the fact that the actual pants are no longer attached to the elastic that defines the waist area of the pant.
A few weeks back, I lashed out and bout a few more pairs of exercise longs. All on special and, given my congenital height deficiency, all too long. Not just a bit long, where they may drag in the mud a little. No, that kind of long that really indicates I really need to be a foot or so taller.
(Or, as my dad once told me, my weight is too much for my height.)
I wanted my walk this morning, and my Longs That Fit were all on the line. It was, I determined, too cold for 3/4 length pants, even though my legs were relatively freshly waxed.
(A week ago is “relatively fresh”, no?)
I know, I thought to myself.