The argument over birth control devices and their consequences has continued in my house, particularly since Thanksgiving when my daughter announced that she was pregnant again. I have tried to avoid these discussions since I am old fashioned and I know that I will never abandon my principles in order to promote family peace.
Let the chips fall where they may, I am what I am, and I said what I meant, I'm an old fashioned geezer, one hundred percent.
The coming of Thanksgiving means one thing - yes I am thankful to God for all He hath wrought - but I am thinking deer season. And deer season means hunting apparel. And hunting apparel means using God-inspired inventions to make the wearing of such apparel less life threatening. By life threatening I mean falling down on some remote thorn and thistle infested ravine because I tripped over my loose fitting hunting pants.
Of course I am referencing the single most despised and misunderstood male accessory in the history of the world, the object of feminine derision and ridicule: the lowly suspenders.
My wife calls them the most successful birth control device ever invented. For the life of me I cannot comprehend her disdain. I understand the mechanics of her claim; I bear mute testimony to the mysterious power of suspenders on my wife's libido. They have worked every time; that is, in my lifetime, I personally have never enjoyed the pleasures of a woman's intimacy while I was adorned with suspenders. I suspect there are other reasons for this, but no matter. I accept the premise.
But my oldest daughter, the pregnant one, joined the fracas whilst we were enjoying her soldier sister's birthday party a few days after Christmas. I had worn my sole set of suspenders that day as I just did not not to wear a belt. My waist had become "temporarily distended" after the holiday feasting and I wanted to be comfortable. My other daughters also sided with their mother and sister in mocking me as I enjoyed my elastic sartorial stability and comfort. I bided my time.
I faced my eldest offspring, her belly just starting to show the love bulge of her fourth child. Her husband was sitting by her side at the other end of the table. I waited until the females at the table had reached a crescendo of verbal abuse and I looked her husband in the eyes.
I said, "I see you haven't been wearing suspenders."