Even without bright colors, flowery Tie o’ the Day shines every bit as boldly as my newest golf pants. Have I mentioned lately that I have fallen thigh-over-knee in love with crazy golf pants? I mean—based on a pair like this, who wouldn’t be smitten?
A couple of my fave-rave television shows over the years are COPS and LIVE PD. They are real-life cop shows. I’m sure Suzanne and I have seen every episode of both, and we marvel at some of the dopey things captured criminals will say to the cops as they plead their innocence. Our all-time favorite defense has been used more times than you can possibly imagine. It happens when a culprit’s pockets are being searched by a police officer, and drugs are found to be in said pockets. When the cop finds the drug and shows it to the alleged criminal, the suspect will often adamantly explain to the officer, in all seriousness, “That’s not mine. These aren’t my pants!” Gosh, that sounds believable. Maybe putting on someone else’s pants is a more prevalent problem throughout the USA than I’m aware of, but I doubt it. In my entire life, even when I was a professorial-level drinker, I cannot think of one time when I accidentally or purposely slipped on a pair of pants belonging to someone who isn’t me. I still watch re-runs of those shows, just hoping to hear that not-my-pants defense come out of the mouth of captured culprits.
Sometimes when, for whatever reason, things get tense around the house, it is now common for whichever one of us is in the doghouse to irrelevantly declare, “These aren’t my pants!” We immediately laugh, and it easily breaks the tension—no matter what the trouble is about. In reality, I am loyal to my pants, and this is true: no matter what is found in the pockets of my golf pants, no matter who put it there, I will never say, “These aren’t my pants!” These are definitely my pants, and you can’t have them.