At midnight tonight it will have been 365 days that the same pair of hemp pants have adorned my blessed lower half. (Heroic music begins as OTP montage rolls.) We’ve had some great times together, and nothing less than the glory of the afterlife will be able to fill the drafty emptiness OTP will leave behind (in all our hearts). But the pants are truly spent.
Through summer heat, winter chill, dirty diapers, spit-up, diarrhea, dog bite, roofing, demolition, wine, chocolate, chili and BBQ, dancing, laughing, crying, two weddings and a funeral, my one true pants have been my rod and my comforter (wait, that sounds familiar).
Why, you may ask, would a well known nut job (aka the RedneckGranola) embrace a monogamous relationship (in this day an age) with a single pair of pants for an entire year? It’s true, despite our Honey Bucket economy, we live in a throw-away culture where jeans come in three packs at the corner store (discount with a magnum of your choice).
But rather than sit on my front porch and throw my crappy jeans at meddling kids while in a drunken stupor, I decided to take my wife’s hard-earned money and have a real pair of pants crafted straight from the fiber of heaven’s loins. To prove their divine status, a test. Yes, a test–365 days of continuous wear with weekly washings to demonstrate that sober-britches monogamy is a more sustainable option than drunken-blue-jean belligerence.
And now the answer is clear as day. Craftsmanship isn’t dead in the United States. (Well maybe it is, but the values behind it still stand true). A well-made article of clothing utilizing the finest of sustainable materials and produced via fair wage can economically compete with a blue-light, shrunk-wrapped, six-pack of genuine regurgitated roll-back. (As long as you’re a tree-hugging nut job who doesn’t care about variety, or at least a dude who prefers simplicity and routine over matching suits.)
Perhaps I’ve broken some unwritten universal law by having a single garment caress my nethers for such an unearthly expanse of time. Or maybe, just maybe, I’ve created a new world order. One were man and britches live in harmonious relationship.[divider]
God’s speed, OneTruePants. God’s speed.