Losing the good fight

I have officially thrown in the towel. After months of denial and looking like I was squeezed into my pants like fresh made sausage, I took three pairs of suit trousers into the tailor to be let out. In fairness, they're like 3 years old and a size 33 waist, but it was still a depressing acknowledgement of age, the effects of my affinity for bar food, and a professional desire to not, literally, have the poo squeezed out of me by my pants while meeting with a client. I relayed this story to the boys on Friday...while we were sitting at a large chain sports bar....and I was stuffing another chicken wing in my mouth.....and washing it down with another beer. So, yeah...this probably won't be the last time I'm getting pants tailored.