Hi, I’m looking for loose fitting jeans,” I mentioned to the store employee at The Gap.  “Where are those located?”

“1996,” he responded.

I could appreciate the sarcasm in his voice but not the fact that he was also telling the truth.

It’s been several years since I’ve been able to walk into a mall store, find a pair of comfortably fitting jeans (the kind that don’t cut off blood flow to the lower legs), pay an exorbitant price (okay, that part can still happen), and leave feeling satisfied.

My jeans might make me look young, but my rapidly aging prostate constantly reminds me that I’m not.

Somewhere along the line, jeans were simply no longer designed to be comfortable.  Ironically, we live in an era that forces people my age (late thirties) to think we can still wear the same sized jeans we wore as teenagers.  All the while, the obesity rate in our country climbs to unprecedented heights.

Recently, I desired to buy a pair of those trendy jeans – the kind with a stretchy material and that utilized buttons for the fly instead of a zipper.  I’m not sure why I wanted them.  An attempt at feeling young perhaps?

Upon trying them on, I found they were tight – so tight I was concerned that a free vasectomy was being thrown in as an added bonus.

“They’ll stretch out once you wear them,” the cashier said.

I felt comfortable with his assurance.  I paid the over $100 asking price for them and walked out of the store feeling provocative and slightly devious.

A few nights later, I’m out on the town with my wife and a couple of our friends.  We are laughing, eating, and drinking a few adult beverages.  Inevitably, I have to use the restroom.  My jeans might make me look young, but my rapidly aging prostate constantly reminds me that I’m not.

I’m at the urinal, finishing up, when I realize that I now have to button up my fly instead of simply zipping up.  This seemingly benign act is far more difficult than I had assumed it would be.  My fat fingers made it hard to maneuver the three buttons into a locked position.  My buddy, who was on the other side of the partition, took notice of me making these awkward movements with my arms while my face expressed a look of dedicated bewilderment.

I felt the need to clarify to him afterwards that I wasn’t brazen enough to do in public what it must’ve looked like I was doing.

A few weeks ago, I was perusing the internet and came across an article about how the population in our society has been decreasing for the last several decades.  Their rationale for this seemed to be how cost prohibitive raising a family can be (though the jeans I had recently purchased were just as expensive as daycare costs).

Another explanation was that young adults were waiting longer to have children, thus diminishing the probability of having more offspring.

In my opinion, the article missed the mark completely.  I correlate the lack of population growth in first world countries with the explosion of the tight jean craze in young male adults.  Put simply, a tight pair of jeans is quickly diminishing the more important genes.

I knew I couldn’t wear the destroyers of my family name any longer.  Fortunately, I was able to find a pair of Tommy Bahama jeans that were loose and as soft as a three-ply Charmin.  I tried them on for my wife and she immediately told me I looked like an 80-year-old retiree named Irv, living in Boca.

She was right, of course, but in my humble opinion, the age of the prostate should match the style of the jeans.  And since my prostate is a full four decades older than the rest of me, call me Irv.