Mr. Smarty Pants

It seems everything in today’s world is becoming smarter. For example, I bet most of you have at least one smart television. I’m fortunate enough to be writing this on a smart phone. When I was working in the business world, we had smart goals. Major car manufacturers are scrambling to market the first successful smart car. We have smart thermostats, smart water sprinklers, smart cards, smart bombs, and smart grids. And guys, of course we all have smart wives 😉.

When others use adjectives to describe me, rarely is the word smart mentioned. Smart alec maybe. Smart a**. Definitely. Crafty? Yes. Creative? Yes. Smart? Never.

Folks, this is about to change. Yes, now you can boldly and confidently call me smart. If you are still reading this, you may wonder why you should call me smart. Here is why.

Recently I bought a pair of smart jeans! Now I’m sure you are much smarter than me because you probably bought your smart jeans a long time ago! I mean, what was I thinking? How could I expect to go through this difficult world wearing dumb jeans, when I could sport smart ones!

My road to smartness began by listening to my smart wife. Holding a pair of my jeans with the tips of her fingers as if they carried a killer disease, she said, “Hun, you need to step up your jeans game.”

“I’ve been wearing these same type of jeans all my life. Why do I need to change my game now?” I half-heartedly protested.

“You look outdated. Haggard. And old,” she replied, knowing the O word would spark action.

Without her knowledge, I trudged grudgingly to the “Step Up Your Game,” jean store, careful to not show any signs of concession. Trying on pair after pair of jeans, I stumbled upon these special jewels. The packaging shouted smart jeans and at once I shifted into smart-alec mode. What made these jeans so smart? Were they smart enough to eliminate the O word? I looked at the price. Woaaaaa!!! Surely that price tag is incorrect! I mean, I once spent less on an entire semester wardrobe in college. Smartly putting these jeans back on the rack, I noticed the sale sign. 70% off, it smartly proclaimed! Suddenly, I was feeling smarter!

“Try me on,” I could sense those jeans telling me. “You deserve to be smart.”

As I put my first leg in the pants, I must admit, I felt something different. Once the second leg was in, the transformation was in progress. I snapped the button and zipped the zipper. I began feeling special. I felt less like the O word. Gone was the baggy seat. No folds, no sags. The fit was fabulous. And guess what? I felt smarter! By golly, I was smarter!

I began to reflect on my late great dad’s jeans. Mom washed and bleached the stains of those working man’s jeans with unconditional love. Afterwards, she applied starch, and lovingly placed them on a wire stretcher contraption. Lastly, she hung them on our outdoors clothesline to dry. I vividly remember our dogs having a blast snapping at those pants as the wind whipped them wildly through the purity of country air. Once, a puppy clamped his teeth on those pants and soared proudly through the air as his canine friends watched on enviously, wondering why they did not think to do this. Then they discovered the answer. My dad gave that puppy a tongue lashing that would make a sailor blush. I never saw this doggie feat occur again.

My dad’s jeans always seemed smarter than mine. As a young buck, I proudly remember him saying, “look at you mister smarty pants,” when I did something good. I loved hearing these words as he was a man of few words. Unfortunately, on numerous occasions, he told me I was getting too big for my britches.

In my teenage years, I thought his jeans were not smart. In fact, I thought those jeans were just downright dumb. Looking back, I was the dumb one. At times, I was not smart enough to undo some of the dumb things I previously did in my dumb jeans. Dads jeans automatically became smart and helped me undo my mess. When he passed away, people told me I had big jeans to fill.

Growing up, I usually owned two or three pair of dumb jeans. I switched back and forth between Levi’s and Wranglers. The brand didn’t really matter to me. Now, I was contemplating spending more money on one pair of smart jeans than I ever dreamed. Was this smart? It felt dumb.

I tried wearing skinny jeans once. “Look how skinny these jeans make me look,” I proclaimed to my wife, just before I nearly blacked out from lack of oxygen.

“Just because there is not a millimeter of air between those jeans and your skin, does not qualify those jeans as skinny,” my wife retorted, as she laughed hilariously at my impressive muffin top waist.

So that was the end of my skinny jeans saga. But these smart jeans; they might just be the ticket!

After much reflection and second guessing, I forked out a small fortune for those smart jeans. Since then, I can’t take them off. Man, they feel so good. And after struggling through life not smart, I must admit, it’s pretty nice actually being smart.

I can’t imagine how my life would have been different if I’d worn smart jeans in high school and college! No trips to the principal’s office. A much higher G.P.A. No dumb pick-up lines with the girls…only smart ones. My oh my what could have been.

Well, I must stop daydreaming now. My smart wife😉is questioning the smart use of time writing this smart story. I just read this masterpiece to her. She too is wearing her smart jeans. She thinks I might be getting too big for my britches. Her advice is to get my honey do list completed. Got to go. Now that I am smart, I know I cannot ignore her advice.

Just call me Mr. Smarty Pants!

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