Jon’s wife’s voice carried down the stairs to the kitchen where he nursed a coffee.
“I washed them,” he yelled.
“Don’t worry, they’re in the dryer.”
“They’ll be done soon–got ‘em on high heat.”
He heard his wife’s quick footsteps on the stairs. The dryer stopped. She bolted into the kitchen holding a black scarf of sorts.
“Look what you’ve done!”
Jon put the cup down. He assumed the yoga pants no longer fit.
After she went upstairs in a huff, he left quietly for a nearby sporting goods store. He confronted a pretty young woman in black yoga pants and yellow t-shirt with the store’s name on it.
“Where are yoga pants?”
He followed the young woman and her buttocks half-way around the store.
“Here we go,” she said. “Size?”
He guessed she thought the pants were for him but he didn’t want to say they were for his wife. It was a guy thing, he assumed, that men of a certain age didn’t want younger women to know they were married.
“What sizes are there?” he asked.
“Male or female?”
Game over. “Female,” he said.
He followed her again.
“I’m an extra-small,” she said.
His wife was bigger than the young woman but he didn’t want to offend his wife by getting a large size.
At home he handed the package to his wife.
“Sorry I ruined your pants,” he said.
When she held them up, he could tell they were too small.
“They’re perfect,” she said.