Am I too old to wear skinny jeans?” I asked the punky cashier at Ragstock. Underneath a tidal wave of severe bangs, I could see her hesitate in horror. To soften the impending insult, I explained to her how I just turned 37 and was going to try and squeeze into a pair of skin tight denim leggings in a delusional attempt to look younger and cooler. Obviously it was to be a joke. Any normal person would take one look at me and realize that there is no way on God’s green earth that my squatty ass was going to fit into a pair of jeans specifically designed to showcase emaciation.

“Good luck?...with your project,” Ms. Punky sighed, her voice dripping with exasperation. 

I returned home unwavering in my delusion and crammed my meaty haunches into the skinny jeans.  It hurt.  Then I put on my new “The Ting Tings” t-shirt and combed my hair into an emo-swoosh. Next, I did what any young man with unlimited free time would do: I watched the new Transformers movie. Normally, I would boringly watch something fuddy-duddy like Mad Men. Since I was a new-old man, though, I got myself a bag of Late Night Doritos, bag of sour Skittles, and a Root Beer and watched some robots. I annoyingly texted non-stop as the movie played. The main draw of Transformers was clearly not the script. The real draw was two hours of straight Megan Fox, a woman so hot she unleashed a worldwide pandemic of boners in teenage boys. There was no denying the fact that Megan Fox was attractive. But for a 37 year old married man, she kind of scared me. After having sex with Megan Fox, I assumed she would eat your face and genitals like a praying mantis. I downloaded all sorts of new music, some of which gave my ears drums diarrhea. I simultaneously hated and loved everything the world had to offer. It was exhausting. My wife came home from work, took one look at me eating a bag of Doritos in skinny jeans watching Transformers, and retreated to the bedroom without a single question. 

I decided to field test my new found coolness at work. I approached Zane and Andrew, two super cool high school juniors.

“What up Fam?” I asked them. (Fam is slang for “Family” meaning they’re as close as brothers.) “I down loaded some hela epic hip-hop from this group called the, um… the Ninjas.”

“The Ninjas? Are you sure?” Zane asked, sniffing the ripe uncoolness festering inside of me.

“Yeah, brah,” I said casually. “It was The Ninjas…or the Kung Fu…or The Jedis…something like that?” I quickly stumbled into a pop music minefield. The names of modern bands are downright Dr. Seussian: Arctic Monkeys in Morning Jackets who are chasing Fleet Foxes that are Panicking at the Disco in Mars Volta. I’m a 37 year old dummy used to one word band associations: Zep, Credence, Wilco, and The Mats. 

“Do you mean the group ‘Jedi Mind Tricks’?” Zane offered.

“Yep. Those dudes are Cooge,” I said. My cell phone rang and I said, “My celly is chirping.” After I hung up, I said “Megan Fox is ‘Deuce Tight’.” 

Both Zane and Andrew started snickering. I could feel their teenage contempt brewing. My coolness was dying before my eyes. It was now or never. “And I got some skinny jeans, too.”

“You?” Andrew said in shock. “You got skinny jeans? That is sooooo wrong.”

“Guess what? They fit and I’m 37 years old. So suck on that,” I said proudly.   

As I walked away, they brayed like donkeys. What I didn’t tell them, though, was the fact that I got partial castrated by the skinny jeans because of my low hanging old man ball sack. I didn’t have the heart to tell them the truth about how as a man grows older his testicle pouch sags lower as the years go by.  Turning 37 is a real bitch. 

I returned the pants the next day.

 


Note from the author:  Spazz Dad will be taking a few weeks off to concentrate on other writing projects.  He will be back in November more Spazzy than ever.  Mark it 8, dude.