To sir, with love.

Okay, I’m not a kid anymore, that part I get...

But I keep myself in shape and I’m told, I don’t look bad – for my age. So at the ripe old age of 48, I find myself standing in front of the Adriana Goldschmied store, otherwise known as “AG Jeans”. The store is a little too bright, but otherwise quirky-cool sporting a table made of shrink-wrapped jeans.

Neither of the two young sales girls looked like they gave a shit about, well, anything. But, as much of an imposition as it appeared to be, we were there to shop. I pulled a few pairs of jeans in both size 31 and 32 since I was not familiar with the fit. I don’t know if AG embraces vanity sizing or what, but to my surprise the 31’s seemed a little loose.

I peak my head out of the dressing room “these 31’s are actually a bit loose, how about a 30?” I ask. A few moments later I hear a young girl outside my dressing room. “Excuse me, SIR?” I go about trying on the second pair of jeans. “Sir, SIR”. SIR? Who the fuck is she talking to? I open the door and there she sands with a pair of jeans in hand. “They run really big, these are 29’s try these” she says. Dumbfounded I look at the jeans and then back at her. “That is very sweet, but at 48 years old, I don’t think I’m getting into a size 29”.

“I don’t know, my father is 38 and he wears a size 29, maybe they’ll fit”, she says. BLECH! The reality sinks in - the kid’s father is practically a kid!

Well, I don’t feel old, so who cares right? Wrong. Call me 48, call me sensitive, just please - don’t call me SIR.