New year, new jeans



So my wife wanted to go out for New Year’s Eve. She wanted to go to a country music concert at a big dance hall in Bryan. So far, we’re 0-2 on things I like to do.

First of all, I can’t stand going out on New Year’s Eve. It’s too dangerous, if nothing else. Every idiot who hasn’t drank a beer all year long wants to go get drunk that night. Then most of them get in a car and drive.

Secondly, I hate concerts. We went to go see Kevin Fowler sing. Now, we’ve already seen Kevin Fowler once before. And don’t get me wrong, I’m a fan. In fact, I’ve got most of his songs on my iPod already. That’s why I don’t understand the decision to pay money to see him sing the same songs that I already have… again.

But, my wife works hard and hardly ever asks me to do anything, so I agreed to go. “I’m going to need a new pair of jeans for the concert, because all of mine are work jeans,” I told her. “Next time you are in Bryan, pick me up a pair.” And I should have known better.

We’ve been through this before. I like my jeans to be a little faded, while she likes them to be the nerdiest blue that they make.

And sure enough, the two pair that she came back with were too blue. One pair, bless her heart, were evidently made for a 13 year old skinny kid. They were a couple of inches from even fitting too tightly.

The second pair were so blue that they looked dirty. And way too tight all the way down the legs. “Lora, these are horrible,” I complained.

“They are in style,” she said.

“So is wearing your phone on a little hip holster. You don’t see me doing that, do you?” But I wrestled the jeans on and went on my way.

Once we got to the dance hall, I went to order us a couple of drinks. And I don’t know why, but the price of beer gets me every time in these places. I ordered three beers, gave the lady a $10 bill, and she had the nerve to give me a dollar back. Three dollars per beer. I’m sorry, but the last time I had a beer that was worth three dollars I had just unloaded 150 bales of hay in a stuffy barn. Ironically, beer was about $1.25 a bottle back then.

The only other complaint I had about the night- and it’s really more of an observation rather than a complaint- is that I can’t get used to seeing cameras in a bar. Nowadays, folks break out the camera phones, take pictures, and put them on Facebook or Twitter within seconds. People walk around posing all night long.

I grew up in a beer joint, and I’m telling you if you would have pulled out a camera and started snapping pictures back when I was a kid your fingers would have been broken off. Bars don’t have windows for a reason, folks.

But all in all I guess it was a good night. We got home safe, none of the bubbas got rowdy and fought each other, and I woke up the next morning without a terrible headache… just no circulation in my legs from the tight jeans.