I’M A PRETTY TOLERANT SORT of guy. It takes a lot to get me worked up. But, many moons ago, I got worked up when my wife confessed she’d thrown out my painting pants.
MY BELOVED PAINTING PANTS! CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?
There are some things in a man’s life that are sacred – and a woman needs to understand that. I mean,
I had BONDED with those pants. We’d shared a LIFETIME together. And I felt BETRAYED!
Ten years earlier they were just a pair of jeans. But they’d grown a little too shabby. So I set them aside for painting.
I wore them when I painted our daughter’s cot a nice warm red. I wore them when I yellowed the boys’ bunks, and oranged their drawers, and purpled their bikes, and epiglassed their little yacht. I wore them when I brown-stained the deck, and pale-pinked our doors, and bright-greened a friend’s roof.
My precious pants were smothered in blobs and streaks and smears of paint. But, secretly, I was glad – because every blob and streak and smear brought back memories.
In short, my pants told a STORY!
Well, I wore those ancient denims till I wore them out. Then I wore them out some more. I even considered bequeathing them in my will – an heirloom (like Great Grandma’s pearl necklace) that my kids could pass on to their kids.
My wife, however, felt none of these sentiments. All she could see were paint stains and a hole in the back where my undies showed through.In her opinion, my pants were rude.
So, one wet Sunday when I wasn’t watching, she sneaked them out of the wash-basket and stuffed them at the bottom of a garbage-bag. Then not long after, unaware of the tragedy I was now a party to, I carried my pants to the roadside for the oncoming rubbish-truck.
R.I.P. my friends …
JOHN (GRAPEVINE’S FOUNDER & ‘BIG CHEESE’) SAYS A COUNSELLOR HELPED HIM FORGIVE HIS WIFE. BUT HE STILL WORRIES ABOUT HIS PANTS. HE JUST HOPES THEY’RE HAPPY, WHEREVER THEY ARE.