Monday, March 15, 2010

Pocketful of Jeans

I probably live more than 90% of my waking hours in jeans. Most of my jeans are carpenter style, not because I’m a handyman sort of guy. Quite the contrary. Gilda can convulse you with stories of my manual ineptitude, such as the time I tried to change a shower head in our previous home and gave up in frustration, only to have to hear for more than two decades now how Gilda simply walked into the shower and easily unscrewed the unwanted head. My insistence that I loosened the head has been unable to quiet her counter-insistence that I am physically challenged when it comes to handiwork.

Question: How many husbands named Murray does it take to change a shower head?

Answer: None. It takes a Gilda.

Enough of those “fond” memories and oh-so-true jokes. This is my blog, not Gilda’s, and I’m here (presumably, you too) to celebrate my achievements, not hers.

As I was saying, I live in carpenter jeans. For one simple reason—I like to carry my cell phone in the side leg pocket, where a real carpenter might carry one of his tools, such as a screwdriver. It’s a modern day version of the low-slung six-gun holster of the Old West. I never liked the look of a phone hanging from a belt or pants waist. A leg pocket is also more convenient than a regular pocket for reaching for a phone when in a car.

Having said all that, I was rather frustrated with a pair of Lee carpenter pants that in all ways but one served their purpose rather well. It wasn’t the leg pocket that disturbed me. Rather, it was the small, right side front pocket where I normally carry change, a nail clipper and lip balm. For some strange reason, Lee makes the pocket too shallow to be effective. I tolerated the condition for several months, but this morning couldn’t take it anymore. Looking closer at the pocket, it appeared the depth actually could be adequate if not for a double seam that appeared to cut the pocket in half. I plucked away at the seams, eager to either secure a proper pocket or resolved to destroy an otherwise perfectly good pair of jeans.

It’s an admittedly small accomplishment to report that my jeans are now perfect, small when compared to what many of you might accomplish today, such as signing a new sales contract, or writing a story, or helping a patient live a healthier life. But we on the home front take our victories where they come. And for me, having a better pair of jeans is a true-blue benefit.