Most people don’t wear suspenders. I do. Either I’m old-fashioned or have a slight waistline bulge. Probably the latter. Okay, I’ll admit the truth—it’s the latter. In any case, I have a drawer full of suspenders, their straps intermingled and writhing together like a den of serpents. Retrieving the right one requires patience and skill. Why is my preferred choice always at the bottom? It’s a mystery.
Never did like the belt. Getting the strap through all the loops involves concentration. If you miss a loop on the way around the waistband, you have to go back and undo all the perfectly good ones until you reach the omitted loop. If you’re running late, the irritation grows. Or, you could let it go and suffer hearing comments all day long. “Hey, you missed a loop.” What do you say to that? “Yeah, I know,” which makes you seem like a slob, or merely issue a “Thanks, I’ll take care of it later,” which most people probably wouldn’t believe anyway.
And what about the holes in the belt? Have you ever found yourself in no-man’s land, one hole too tight and the next a bit too loose? Belts never seem to have the exact hole spacing you need. Why don’t they sell you a leather strap and an awl so you can punch in the hole where you want it? Happily for me, I’m no longer concerned with loops and holes.
Suspenders, for the most part, have done a pretty good job holding up my pants. Once in a while, there’s a mishap. Nothing like Janet Jackson’s wardrobe malfunction.
There was this one incident, however, when I dressed in a pair of clip-on suspenders. About to make a group benefits presentation to thirty women who worked in a commercial laundry, the heated environment caused me to take off my sports coat. After I introduced myself, uproarious laughter broke out among the ladies. The rear clip holding the elastic suspender strap had failed. The mechanical breakdown catapulted the strap and broken clip over my head like they’d been launched from a slingshot. It took a few seconds to understand what had happened. Then, I addressed the group. “I’m very excited to be with you today.” Although I continued with the presentation, their concentration vanished while their laughter lingered.
Soon after, I switched from clip-on suspenders to button-on. The change brought with it a new obstacle to overcome—sewing six buttons onto the inside waistband of each pair of pants. During the initial period of learning the skill, I wished I’d taken home economics instead of wood shop class in junior high school.
Over the years, I’ve become accustomed to sewing on buttons. My sweet grandmother in heaven probably smiles every time I reach for needle and thread and grimaces at the end product.
On one occasion, I’ve had the help of a tailor who, without doubt, does a much better job. But I prefer to do it myself—staying in practice for that time when I’m in need of an emergency repair. Who ya gonna call when the bottom drops out?
I have been thinking about buying a pair of suspenders for a few year now,, every since I lost my ass. I used to have a " bubble butt" but it has vanished over the years. Now, I just about must cut myself in two with a belt to keep my pants up. Suspenders are the only answer.