Writing about short pants in my previous post triggered yet another recollection. It occurred in the same general time frame as my one-time experiment with wearing shorts, and it involved colouring my pants with a purplish crayon.
Because I have succumbed to the wiles of heathenism and no longer attend church, I don't know what folk do today, but back on those days — late fifties/early sixties — all of us men wore suits to church. And I went to church quite a lot, or at least twice on Sundays.
And lo it came to pass that I was handed-down a suit that was a bluish grey if I doth recall correctly. And verily, the pants did possess what must have been a bleached out spot on the left leg somewhat below the bottom of the jacket. So, yea my people, I didst endeavour to hide this blemish for it was evil in my sight. Behold, before wearing said suit to meeting, I wouldst take in mine hand a crayon and attempt to hideth the offending spot. Alas, it never didst worketh all that welleth but felt I indeedeth bettereth for the tryingeth of it — eth. So saith the AC. Amen
Putting my over-the-top parody of King Jimmy English aside, I don't recall being too embarrassed over having this particular trial inflicted upon me, for I knew we didn't exactly have a Rockerfellian bank account. So, fine and understanding fellow that I was, I didn't complain too vociferously. But even then I had my pride and simply put down mine hard-hearted foot over that other hand-me-down suit: the one that was a brownish herringbone suitable for an old man — a somewhat diminutive older man as it happened.
On that rock of faith and principle, I stood firm!