Hey, Nice Jeans.

According to the pictures I've seen and the stories I've been told, my dad used to be quite the dresser back in the day. It's been verified by my mother who would always chime in with, "Oh, your father had impeccable taste. Very sharp, very sharp." And my dad would nod in full agreement, "I was sharp, boy. Very sharp." And this would be followed by him running to his closet to bring out some of his old jackets.
-Yea, that's a nice jacket.
-You bet it is!
And then he would wear it around the house for a few hours.

But with the limited fashion opportunities a life on a farm affords, his sense of style disappeared. I love the guy but on more than one occasion I've literally been embarrassed by his choices. One summer day before my buddy Matt Thompson came over to chill my dad came out to the living room wearing swim shorts and a polo.
Asking him to change, he said it was fine. So when Matt came in he goes,
-uuh, is your dad in his underwear?
-they're swim trunks.
-did you guys get a pool?
-no.

Another time when I was in college, they came to visit and when they walked in my apartment, I burst out laughing at his jeans. They were HORRIBLE.
-DAD! what are you wearing?! Those don't even fit!
-I don't know, they were in my closet.
-You need to change, immediately. Go buy pants.
It turns out they were my mom's jeans. I swear to you.

OK, so yesterday, my mom calls from the mall. They're coming out here in a few weeks and wanted some new gear so she took him to Express for men for some jeans. My mom always describes these things with a Ben Stein cadence that I love.
-Your father has tried on about 12 pairs of jeans. Each time he comes out of the dressing room he tests them.
-How do you test jeans?
-He's doing lunges around Express.
-No.
-Yes.
He's found one pair he likes, oh, he's coming out. (Those look nice Steve, take those too.) Ok, and he's back on the floor.

Sharp. Very, very sharp.