Britches In A Dither

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Bryce Angell – The outdoors has always been a large part of my life. My father was an outfitter and guide for 35 years and I was there to shoe and care for the horses and help him do the cooking. We took many great trips into the Yellowstone area. Even now that I’m older, we still ride into the Tetons, Yellowstone and surrounding areas. My poems are mostly of personal experience. I am now retired and enjoying life to the fullest. I plan to do more riding and writing.

I’m short by all the standards, ‘cuz I stand at five-foot-three. It had never been a problem, ‘til one day I’d disagree.
I shopped at Merkle’s country store. He carried all we’d need. From Wrangler pants to fresh farm eggs, right next to chicken feed.
On pay day I drove down to Merkle’s store to buy some jeans. Old Merkle said, “You’ll find ‘em stacked behind the pork and beans.”
I fumbled through the sizes, found a pair that fit just right. But the Wranglers were all priced the same, no matter what your height.
I’d taken economics and this wasn’t making sense. The cowboys with the longer legs weren’t sharing my expense.
My inseam’s length is 30 and that’s stretching it a bit. An inseam long as 36 would reach to my armpit.
So 36, then take away my 30, leaves some doubt. ‘Cuz now there’s 6 whole inches that a short man’s paying out.
Mr. Merkle did his best to reason out with me. He said, “Those pants are always priced right from the factory.”
Well, paying more for trousers kinda stuck right in my craw. I said to Mr. Merkle, “Sir, there oughta be a law.”
Mr. Merkle probably thought, “This guy’s a case, for sure. And hopefully he’ll grab his pants and head on out the door!”
I vowed to get my money’s worth and prove the price was wrong. So I bought a pair of brand-new pants six sizes extra-long.
I pulled my brand-new britches on and cinched my belt up tight. Ole Merkle shook his head and said, “You’re really quite a sight.”
I thanked him for the compliment. How nice of him to say. Then hiked my extra-long jeans up and headed on my way.
It only took a minute for my long pants to slip down. They snagged a small but jagged rock — face planted to the ground.
My extra-long new Wranglers were all frayed and torn by noon. So I trimmed ‘em with my knife. Looked like a country boy buffoon!
I’d stewed in such a dither and I’ve never been more wrong. ‘Cuz I bought my brand-new Wranglers six sizes extra long!
So, I hurried back to Merkles for some 30-inseam jeans. Old Merkle stood there smiling, said, “Behind the pork and beans.”