There is a game I like to play in Spain from time to time which is readily titled, “Shopping for pants”. It usually starts with my walking to in some random chain store, choosing a model of pants (typically jeans with an emphasis on “not slim fit”), selecting the proper size plus the typical adjustment (ie I’m an XL, not an L here) taking them to the fitting room, sticking my leg in, and quickly finding that while they fit fine until the knee, anything past that is like a girl with an ass finding clothes that fit at skinny white people store, Abercrombie & Fitch. The problem has been and in theory always will be, my thighs.
Like my father (and I assume what must have been his father and his father’s father) as well as my brother, we have been blessed with the thighs of a god. It makes me feel as if we were destined to move stars across the galaxy, or at the very least, be descended from peasant rootstock who were unable to afford a mule for the plow and thus, the family member with the biggest thighs pulled it which I’m sure was a tight competition. Let me put forth that this isn’t a fat thing, but indeed all bizarrely placed muscle. If only my upper body developed this way, I could terrify any number of small nation states in to capitulation.
It makes me wonder if I’ve missed my calling in Spain. Given that it appears most men are built like wet noodles (someone has to buy these meager thighed pants), I am constantly wondering if I could completely own this country through thigh power alone, although my conquest would have to be generally pantsless given that trying to find adequate pants has proven difficult. I can even see my future name now, “Miquel the Pantsless, but Almighty (seriously, don’t laugh at his thighs)”.
Until these days of thigh-powered conquest, I must satisfy myself with buying pants that are a 38 waist when I’m a 35 just so that I can get them on over my bulging, physics-defying thighs. Thankfully global sweatshop enterprise, H&M charges a mere 15€ for the pleasure of such pants. Then of course there’s waiting to go to the US where relaxed fit means, “we love your thighs” and I am in general an equal when it comes to the upper leg, but only by a little.