Oct 31, 2006 4 min read

I figure I got more than my money’s worth. In a previous column I wrote about how I tend to wear certain favorite or comfortable articles of clothing until they literally wear out or fall apart.

I was keeping an eye on one such pair of pants that fell into that grouping. Soft, well fitted to my portly frame and very comfortable, I noticed a little fraying at the corner of the pocket I carry my wallet in. Most men have their wallets stuffed to near explosion with everything imaginable (except money), which means they tend to put added strain on any stitches or cloth with which they come in contact.

My case was no different. Clearly visible, the fraying was beginning to turn into a hole. Now I have been wearing these pants for several years, they have been laundered numerous times and except for a hint of the original crease, they still looked pretty good – except for the developing cavity.

So, I debated whether or not to buy one of those iron-on patches that so conveniently turn a soon-to-be-retired-to-the-trash shirt or pants into an article of clothing with more miles on it. I figured if I could match the color, I could apply the patch to the inside of the pocket so it wouldn’t be as obvious.

However, things didn’t work out that way.

On vacation recently, my lovely wife and I were able to spend some more time than usual with my parents. On our way to their home, we stopped to grab a quick bite at an area restaurant and I thought I noticed something different when I slid out of the booth after eating. It almost felt like the seat and my skin had come into direct contact.

Ignoring it as just my imagination, we strolled to the car and completed the journey to my parents’ home.

We joined them on the front porch. But I had parked our car in such a way that the sun reflected its bright light off the side window and directly into my mother’s eyes. “Oh, let me move the car,’ I said.

When I walked back onto the porch, my father asked me if I knew there was a big hole in the back of my trousers.

“What?’ I exclaimed. “No, I didn’t know.’ Reaching down behind my left leg I probed the tear. It was large, all right. It seemed like the whole bottom left half of my pants had ripped free from the seam.

“Maybe you can sew it,’ my mother said. My wife looked at it and concluded it was beyond repair.

“Couldn’t you feel that?’ my wife said.

“No,’ I replied, stunned that practically the whole left leg of my pants was flapping in the breeze.

Dad and I are two different sizes so it wasn’t even worth trying on a pair of his pants. Yet, we had gone to my parents to take them shopping and check on a few things.

“Well, we can go, but I just won’t get out of the car,’ I said.

It all worked out and when I got home I followed my wife’s instructions and promptly put the pants in the garbage.

“I’m going to have to check you more carefully from now on,’ she said. “I noticed you were getting a little threadbare but I didn’t think it was that bad,’ she added.

Well, like I say, I get my money’s worth. Oh, and I found two identical pair of pants to replace the ones I threw away. Guess what? They were on sale. I figure I’m good now for the next five years or so. Or until a leg drops off.

Not mine. One on the pants. I think.

Have a good day.

James Pletcher Jr. is business editor of the Herald-Standard. He can be reached at 724-439-7571 or by e-mail at begin Jpletcher@heraldstandard.com Jpletcher@heraldstandard.com end

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