I wear jeans. Always.
When I lived in Texas, where it swelters in summer, I was not much of a jeans man because jeans don’t breathe. They are hot pants, which is good when you live on a cool mountaintop in Mexico, as I do. But not in a Texas summer.
Whereas I’m 100 percent jeans below the border, I used to be 100 percent khaki above. Long in the workplace, of course, short outside in summer — khaki shorts. I had great legs back in those days. Feet too. A woman in an elevator once told me so.
I long had trouble finding jeans in Mexico because I’m way taller than most Mexicans, but they can be found. Levi’s often are available in my size, but I don’t pay $45-$50 (U.S.) for pants.
Those prices seem overblown to a Mexican mind.
Mostly I buy Riders at WalMart. One odd thing about most jeans sold in Mexico is they label the waist size but not the length. Most are high-water on me.
Riders are the only non-length jeans that extend far enough. It’s close, but close enough. And they cost less than 25 bucks. Yahoo! That’s my ballpark.
Before moving over the Rio Bravo in those now-distant days, I was addicted to Hanes drawers. Boxer-briefs, they call them, which is a contradiction but the Mad Men can say whatever they wish to sell stuff.
When we visited Texas regularly, something we’ve not done since 2008, I always brought back a nice supply of Hanes boxer-briefs. But God knows when we’ll next be in the United States (something that interests my child bride far more than it interests me), so I’ve branched out into new skivvy territory.
Fruit of the Loom.
They’re just as good. One shouldn’t get too goofy about underwear.
Nobody much sees them anyway. Just so they don’t ride up.