The 38s

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a given man, in possession of an ordinary penis, must, on occasion, be a dick.

I appear to have woken up this morning with the determination to be that dick. My mother, my wife and I went to Ebbw Vale, where much against d's will, it absolutely pissed down. (She has this delightful little delusion that it doesn't rain in Wales, bless her - it's like she's mainlining happyjuice a hundred percent of the time). I went mainly so I'd be out of the house, and to pop into a discount bookstore we always visit when we're in the area. And Christ, was I grumpy. I shrugged, and grunted, and slouched along like an oversized 40-year-old teenager. Mind you, this is something that always happens to me on our first full day staying with my folks - something, I think, to do with d and my mother getting on so terrifyingly well (I know, you should all have my problems, shouldn't you?). Don't know what it is, but when your wife and your mother get on appallingly well, and you're with them, there's something inherently infantilising about the experience. It's not intentional, it's just that their fundamental point of connection is you, and they each have different funny stories about you, and they take the opportunity to sync up, so it tends to make me teenage and grumpy.
"Oh look honey," said d, "we can get you some new trousers!"
I groaned.
"Don't want new trousers," I sulked. "Have said, I dunno how many times, to both of you, I don't want new trousers till I've lost a bit more!"

So - in a very real sense - nehh!

"Oh shush," said my mother. I don't just pluck my literary brilliance out of the air, you know.
"You need new trousers honey," said d. "I can't keep up with washing them when you only have two pairs, and one of them's way too big.
"Mumble mumble rassen frassen," was the essence of my response, as I slouched into the shop sourly.
"Try these," said d.
"Oh Goooooooood," I teenagered. "Don't wanna try things onnnnnnn."
"Please honey," said d. "For me. It's not an execution," she added, accurately.
"No," I mumbled, slouching into the changing room, "it's a hijacking."
I pulled on the trousers she'd handed me, and zipped them up. They were tight, certainly, but they did up, and I could sit down, get up, walk around and do a funny little dance - which are generally the main things I require of trousers. Well, that and that they cover my ass. They did.
"How are they?" d called from beyond the Curtain of Sulk.
"Fine!" I said. "Let's get 'em."
I emerged, and showed her that they covered me, did up, and allowed me to do my funny little dance.
She clapped her hands together, then flung her arms around me.
"I'm so happy for you baby!" she whispered in my ear. I hugged her, a bit clueless, patting her on the back at this explosion of emotion.
"Gooood," I said. "Erm...why?"
"They're size 38 honey," she explained.
I blinked.
"Really?"
She nodded eagerly.

I should explain here - my 'comfy trousers' are a size 46 - and yes, in this case, that's the number of inches we're talking about (that's 116.8 cm, for my bizarro metric friends). It should also be explained that I picked up those 46 inch trousers two Christmases ago, so this is not as huge a differential as it at first appears. My other pair of trousers are 42 inches in diameter (106.7cm), and they work perfectly well. BUT - at Christmas, (the last time I was in the same store), we went through this teenaged routine and I couldn't do a pair of size 40 trousers up. Now, I can do my silly little dance in a pair of size 38 (96.5cm).

We picked them up, and added a pair of size 34s to the basket too - as something to disappear into over time. Technically, what I have done since starting this experiment in February is dropped two sizes, or four inches. If I can do the same again, the size 34s will fit me by the next time I turn into a teenager and slouch into Ebbw Vale in the pissing-down rain.

You'd think such pleasing news would have ended my dickfest, wouldn't you? But apparently not - have mumbled and grumbled my way through much of the day, to some extent wasting the opportunity of spending time with my folks by being utterly self-revolving. On the upside, while there has of course been no biking today, I have helped move a roomful of furniture, which was far more of an all-over workout than I'm used to. On the down side, Composto appears to be launching a new attack on me, so I'm feeling like a big hopeless teenage puffball - all dangerous wind and grumpiness. This'll pass of course - Father's Day tomorrow, which will be good. No, honest, it will, I'll wake up like a different bloke tomorrow, this is just 'first day grumpiness' talking.

So perhaps I should just shut up and get on with it. Maybe?