Monday, Jan. 21, 2002
“My mother insisted on buying all my clothes until I was 18, much the same way my father cut my hair in order to prevent shagginess and the use of pomade, which he called ‘Satan’s lubricant.’

Shopping with my mother was even worse, especially when we had to shop for pants. She would pick out very unfashionable courderoy or canvas pants and made me try on every pair, even the same brands that were the same size as those I just tried on.

I would have to come out and walk around the store in each pair, first in shoes, then barefoot to make sure there was no discrepancy because of the shoes. She would then tug at the pants here and there and invariably say they were extremely baggy in the crotch. She would yell to everyone in the store, ‘These are very baggy in the crotch. Do you have these in the same size with a much smaller crotch?’

It was very embarrassing and hard to forgive in those days, but as I grow older I’m able to look back and laugh at the foibles of those mother-son pants shopping trips.

I must say, however, I’m still not able to fondly recall the one instance we shopped for condoms together. I don’t think I ever will.”

“Pants”