Why Men Wear The Same Clothes For 100 Years (Give Or Take): A Nevin Barich Blog Experience

Recently, I wore a pair of pants to the outside world that featured a deep worn crease on the left side and a slight hole in the crotch area. A female friend noticed this frayed piece of clothing and suggested, ever so kindly, that I retire these pair of pants to the back of the closet -- or the trash can.

But little does a woman understand the relationship between a man and his battered clothes.

You see: When I look at those pants, I don't see its flaws. As a man, I see something more. I see someone who has been through thick and thin with me. I see someone who has been with me through the ups and downs of my life, and never judged. I see a companion, a sympathetic ear, a friend.

Kind of like a dog. :-)

Simply put, these pants are comfortable. And not just comfortable in the comfortable sense. I know what to expect when I put them on. I know how they make me feel. I know how they make me act. I know how to handle them on my fit days. I know how to conquer them on my fat days. Simply put: I get them and they get me.

That's why there are holes in my socks and the soles of my shoes are worn to the bone.

And that makes me happy.

Men everywhere know what I'm talking about.

And like a good dog, when a piece of clothing is finally ready to move forward, it's done painfully, but with an equal sense of understanding on both sides. We look into each other's side for a deep moment, neither one of us needing to say a word...

...and toss the pants in the trash. :-)

Then we go to the clothing store, spend 90 seconds picking out a new pair of pants -- We don't have to try them. Men already know their size -- and the next 100 years begins.

And that's...the cycle of life.

:-)

And now for this week's:

SIGN OF THE APOCALYPSE

DAMN YOU MANNY RAMIREZ!!!

I mean seriously: Did you honestly believe you were gonna get away with it? Major League Baseball is cracking down on steroid abuse, you moron. If they caught Barry Bonds and Roger Clemens, they were sure as hell gonna catch you!!

I hate baseball.

I hate life.

I hate baseball players with dreadlocks.