The Boy was working the other day in an old chemical factory they're turning into something else, tearing down a concrete wall. ("Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall!") I didn't know that it was a chemical factory until I saw his concrete-dust-covered ass at the end of the day, and I mean that quite literally. Apparently his green cargo pants ripped just before lunch, and proceeded to get worse as the day went on. I didn't have my camera, so I couldn't take a picture, and he probably wouldn't have let me do it anyway, but the tearing started up near his crotch, and went horizontally almost all the way around his leg, as well as down the inseam almost to his knees.
It looked like he'd tried to turn one leg into cut-off short shorts and realized it was a stupid idea with about three inches of fabric left holding them together. It's a good thing that he wears his boxer-briefs like a good boy, or it would have been an indecent exposure charge waiting to happen.
"Apparently, jeans are the way to go at that place," he told me, trying to hold his pants up.
"Well, that's what they were originally designed for, right? I mean, technically it was for miners, and they were made out of canvas, but you get what I'm saying..."
He stared at me blankly.
"You know," I tried. "Levi... and the boat... and the canvas for the tents..."
"I really have no idea what you're talking about."
"You mean DON'T you know all about the history of denim?! Why not?" I teased.
"Because you haven't told me yet," he responded, shaking his head as if I should have known better.
Silly me. I forgot that I'm supposed to know everything.
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