Have I Told You About My Belt?

It is a nice belt. It has four holes. I use the second hole. It comes from the Gap. I know, what was I doing in the Gap? I was looking for a belt. A belt! Me! I can hardly believe it myself.
I have nice jeans. They fit me, which is something I find very strange, because none of my clothes have fit me since I was in single digits of age. Sadly, the button at the top of the fly came off.
(This happened about six months ago. I have spent six breezy months with fastener at the top of my fly absent, and the denim flaps untethered and askew.)
((Bear in mind also that these jeans are basically my only lower-limb clothing option. I have kept to my ‘travel light’ principles even though I’m not travelling at the moment and even though i’ve accumulated lots of books, but books have a separate principle like how ice cream has its own stomach, so shut up.))
I found a belt at The Gap. It cost me a grand total of GBP3.97, down from GBP22. Who says there aren’t bargains to be found on the High Street?

I like my belt. My belt stops my jeans from low-riding. I have these jeans on right now and right now I can feel them fitting me around the arse.

Let me tell you, when you’ve never worn clothes that fit you ever in your life, it is very unnerving to walk around in public with jeans vaguely conforming to the shape of your bum. I feel like Christine Aguilera.

Luckily I have a damn sexy arse. It was a requirement when I became one of the Lovegods (hi Hoa, Anne, Leon!) and that dash of early divinity has stuck with me through the last decade. So I’m not worried.

Sexy arse. Jeans that fit. Belt. Finally the pieces are all in place. Today, I become a man.

That’ll do, belt. That’ll do.

(PS: As of this evening I’ve got new jeans, and they still have the button at the top of the fly… FOR NOW.)