My Old Shorts

It's been warm. Too warm to jog in my long jogging pants. I have two pairs of jogging shorts. (I think I do. Maybe I'm remembering something different. I never know any more, what with all the changes with the move, whether I'm remembering a plan that was or wasn't actually implemented. It is NOT time to re-watch A Beautiful Mind!)

Annnnyway, if I have two pairs of jogging shorts, one is AWOL. Maybe in a box. Maybe in a cupboard. Maybe hiding behind the milk in the fridge or under a lamp in the living room??? So in these warm days, I grabbed the blue shorts and started to put them on. OH, elastic, where have you gone? The waistband is shot; all sproinginess forever depleted by age. Y'know how old elastic crackles when it stretches, breaking and crumbling? I hate that sound!

So the blue shorts went into the trash. My good ol' shorts. My comfortable ol' shorts. How could they give up the ghost so soon? Wait! Soon? I started thinking. How old are those shorts? Let's see, I bought them at the end of junior high school. Those shorts were more than 30 years old. Granted, with the huge number of years I was pregnant and the great number of Wisconsin months where shorts are unwearable, those things could last a good long time. But I suppose even with those allowances, thirty years for an elastic waistband was pretty darn good. (What did it say in Deuteronomy about the Israelites' clothes and shoes not wearing out for 40 years?)