Pants

More tales of jury duty…

One of my fellow jurors is perhaps in her upper 50's. She seems to take an especial, if occasional, interest in me. She always says hello and, once, when she decided I wasn't feeling well, she asked if everything was ok. I was fine. I'm not sure why she decided something was wrong with me.

I've heard her mention that she was diagnosed with diabetes some time ago and lost a lot of weight. A few days ago, she said, "Don't take this the wrong way…but I have some pants that will fit you. They'll fit you real good. I used to have hips like yours."

Um. Ok. I said, "Um, ok." I gave her a big smile and hoped that she wouldn't actually bring the pants.

The next day she said, "I have the pants. They're in the closet in a white bag."

"Ok," I said, "I'll take a look at them later."

I waited a day but she asked me again, "Have you taken the pants yet? Just take them home. They'll fit you good."

"Ok. I'll look at them later." But I didn't want to take the pants home. What if they didn't fit? Would I have to carry them back? I didn't ask for the pants, but not trying them on seemed rude.

I took the pants home without looking at them. When I pulled them out I realized immediately that I didn't want the pants. Even if they fit, I would never wear them. They were decent quality trousers, suitable for work, but totally not my style--too many pleats, too full in the leg and I didn't like the colors. Camel and chocolate brown. Camel, I'll never wear. The chocolate, possibly in a different style. I tried on the chocolate pair, but they didn't fit. Oy. I didn't bother to try on the other pair.

I planned to tell the lady who gave me the pants that I liked them. Then I'd just dump them in the used clothing box near my house. However, when she asked me how I liked them, I said, "One pair didn't fit."

"Really?"

What's wrong with me? She hasn't asked for the pants back so I guess it's my job to dispose of the unwanted pants. I know she meant well but I can't help being a bit annoyed. I promise never to give away my unwanted things unless specifically encouraged to do so...with the possible exception of old bags I give to Pele. Heh.

Grateful for: friendly jurors.