35-30 or Fight

Have you seen my pants lately?

I mean my 35-30 pants.  That’s not a brand name, like 501 jeans; that’s my size. Yes, I have a 35-inch waist and two 30-inch legs. Now you know.

I am not proud of this. I didn’t aspire to it (except when I was a 37). But I’m not unhappy with it, either, although I’d rather be a 34.

Now, I ask you again: Have you seen my pants?  No, not the ones I am wearing, even though I’m beginning to think that they were the last 35-30s made in America. I’m looking for another pair of 35-30s. Where have all the 35-30s gone?

Every Saturday morning, I head out the door to look for pants. I’m either wearing my last pair of 35-30s, or I’m scrunched into 34-28s. Or waddling around in a pair of 38-32s.

First, I go to Macy’s to look for pants. Man, do they have pants. Plus, they have some really great sizes: 38-33, 42-28, 42-35, 40-34, 35-28. And that’s just the beginning. The entire rack of clothes is a testimony to the myriad and wonderful ways that God works. Imagine creating humans in so many sizes!

But God, in his omnipotence, should have seen that making men with 35-inch waists and 30-inch legs was unnecessarily cruel. God should have known that 35-30 men would never find pants. Men like this are destined to walk around Monument Circle naked.

If God doesn’t believe me, he’s never been to Macy’s, or T.J. Maxx or Kohl’s. Even at Wal-Mart, where you can get kitty litter made for one cat, two cats or multiple cats, I can’t find 35-30 pants. Where are they all?

I look through the other sizes, hoping that some 35-30 who forgot his credit card may have squirreled away his size so he could return the next day and reclaim his treasure. Maybe there’s a 35-30 in between the 44-30s and the 32-28s. That’s where I once hid a pair of 35-30s.  No luck. Let me tell you something: You can hide some of your income from the IRS in a bank in Switzerland, but you can’t hide a pair of 35-30 pants. Trust me, I’ve tried.

So what is the explanation for this? Is the size so rare that they don’t manufacture very many? No way. True, you’re more apt to see a 40-28 at the State Fair or a 32-32 at the Mini-Marathon, but I see 35-30 bodies all day long: lawyers, doctors, plumbers, bus drivers. All 35-30, all apparently happy and well-adjusted. But I can see it in their eyes…and the way they walk. They can’t find 35-30s, either. It’s so tragic.

The real explanation is that 35-30 is so common that stores can’t keep the size in stock. I know that when I see a pair of 40-29s, they are going to be there for a while. You see, men who are 40-29 won’t admit it.  They are probably trying to squeeze into my 35-30s. There oughtta be a law.

You might be saying to yourself, “What a whiner. He’s really a lucky guy. He doesn’t have to go to the Small Man’s Shop or the Big Man’s Shop. His size is easy to find. He probably just double-parks his Suzuki in front of L.S. Ayres, runs in, grabs a 35-30 off the shelf and is back in his car in five minutes.

Yeah, in my dreams.

No one cares about 35-30s. We’re a dime a dozen. We are normal around the middle, average from crotch to cuff. There is nothing distinctive about us. Except that we don’t have any pants.

Of course, if you are a 48-30, or a 34-25, you probably read this entire column and are now saying to yourself, “I don’t find this whole thing very funny.”

Well, neither do I.