New duds…well, new dud, anyway

With an insulin pump, trying on new clothes is a pain in the ass.

To try on a pair of pants you have to un-clip the pump from your belt and clip it somewhere else. Maybe on your underwear. Maybe on your shirt. Then you pull off the pants you are wearing only discover you forgot to take your shoes off. Mind you, this is all happening inside a cubical the size of an airliner’s bathroom.

You sit on a triangle that is an excuse for a bench to take care the whole shoe thing and you knock over your go-bag, spilling emergency sugar, spare infusion sets, and test strips all over the floor whereupon you realize that the floor of the changing room is covered in pins just waiting to stab your diabetic feet.

Once you get the new pants on, insulin pump clipped to waist line, shirt tucked in; you need to trek sock-foot back out into the store in search of a mirrors. Then you wish you had really worn the type of shirt that might have matched the type of pants you are looking for.

You stand in front of the three tall mirrors and try to decide how you look. Do I look hot or cool? Business like or buffoon like? Will my wife like these? Will passing ladies? Ummmm…..can I check out my butt to see how these pants treat me from that angle without everyone in the store staring?

I hate shopping for clothes.

It all started with a simple question: “What are you going to wear, anyway?” asked Deb.

What I always wear. That got a long silent look from dark brown eyes.

What?

“Maybe you’d better email Amy.”

We were discussing what I’d wear to the Roche Social Media Summit in just a few days. So I emailed my ebuddy Amy. And she told me “business casual, which means no ties but no jeans” which means I’m totally screwed because my dress pants are jeans. Hey, New Mexico is a third-world country after all. My normal work parts are cargo pants. My normal work shirts are light-weight nylon with vents so you don’t die from the heat.

“Didn’t you own some Dockers a while back?” asked Debs. “You could wear them with one of your banded collar shirts and look presentable.”

We proceeded to closet dive and found them. But I’m not half the man I used to be. I was feeling fat lately as I’ve inched up from a 34 waist to a 36 waist. The Dockers were 44 inch. I can’t believe I used to be that fat.

“I think you need to go buy a new pair of pants,” said Debs.

Grumble, grumble, grumble….. waste of money…grumble, grumble… never wear them again…grumble, grumble… hate shopping for clothes in the first place….grumble… Christ, I sound just like my grandfather.

The next day I found myself at Wal-Mart after work trying on four different pairs of pants. One pair, a bone-colored pleated-front dress pant actually looked awesome from both front and back until I sat down. Then the fabric bunched up in an inappropriate way made famous by a skit on the Drew Carey Show. He buys a pair of discount pants that when he sits down make him look….ummmmm….excited. Totally the wrong kind of pants to wear in a room full of bloggers.

Next I was at JC Penny looking at real Dockers, which cost a half-day’s wages for me. I don’t even try any on. Next stop Dillard’s, where some of the pants cost more than a full day’s wages.

Lucky for me the economy sucks and Dillard’s is dumping inventory. I score a respectable looking pleated front pale grey chino for $15.99, marked down time and time again from the original $50 friken’ bucks. Yikes!

Well, I don’t mind spending $15.99 to make sure I’m not the worst dressed man in the room.

So now I got to wash them, fold a spare shirt, and back my bag. I’m pretty excited, this is a pretty awesome group I get to spend the day with, after all. These are some of the brightest, best, most charming, most funny, most loveable, and most sexy D-writers on the web. I’ll let you figure out who is who.

Now, I hope I don’t spill coffee on my only pair of business casual pants on my way to the airport…