Le Tableu Noir

I have this weird hankering for a pair of burgundy coloured trousers.
Not demims, but trousers.
These probably aren't very fashionable and the only people I've ever seen wearing trousers of this hue have been either Mod retroists or tramps, so I dunno what that says about me, but hey, I've never given much of a shit about fashion, so who cares?

Anyway, on Friday I went into this shop just off Carnaby Street which sells kinda Sixties style clothes. I've passed it many times before but not being into this groove I never had any reason to venture in before, but the retro Mod thing got me thinking that they might have some burgundy trousers, which they did.

Straight away however I could tell that the ones they had were going to be too tight. They were like drainpipes. I want to wear them with motorcycle boots but there was no way I was going to get them over those.

I said this to the small middle-aged Asian woman that appeared to be running the place but she took no notice of my scepticism and persuaded me to try them on anyway.

The first pair were so tight I couldn't even do up the zip properly so I called to her and asked for a bigger pair.

But as I was stood there waiting in the changing room in my pants and socks, the curtain was suddenly yanked back exposing me to the rest of the shop and there's this little rodent faced woman stood there with the larger size.

Luckily there was no one else in the shop to see my spindly white legs or my crumpled dignity, but all the same, who the hell does this?

Then as I disgruntledly moved to redraw the curtain, I caught her momentarily giving my semi-nakedness what I felt to be a disapproving glance.

What the fuck?!

I mean, take a fucking look at yourself, sweetheart!
Four and a half foot high with a hook nose and sticky-out teeth!
You've got some mirrors in here! Use them!

Anyway, the larger pair, as I'd already guessed, were little better, especially on the leg.

I couldn't get the leg down over any part of the fucking boot.

"Ach, fuck this!" I mumbled to myself and disdainfully removed the bastards onto the floor.

No sooner had I done so however than this freak was back asking how they were and fiddling with the curtain as if about to whisk it back again.

"Em, can you give me a second there?!" I said urgently.

Eventually, back in my denims and boots I explained to her that they were too tight.

She found this difficult to accept.

"Too tight? No. These are not too tight. Maybe you need another size?"

I wasn't interested, but she began to insist forcing me into an irritated explanation of why we were both wasting our time.

"Look, these trousers are clearly supposed to be tight. I could tell that when I first saw them. I knew they wouldn't fit over my boots. Don't worry about it. Thanks for your help!"

But she was clearly not used to giving up so easily on a sale.

Her fat husband and master was probably sat in his vest watching cable TV in the backroom gnawing on a chicken leg with one ear listening in to her failing negotiating technique and his fat greasy fingers loosening his belt ready to give her a good leathering for blowing the deal, but she was getting on my tits now so I didn't give a shit.

Finally in a confused panic she said, "Well, you could wear them with shoes. These are supposed to be worn with shoes, not boots. Your boots are too wide. You need shoes for these trousers!"

Ah, the penny drops; the master's belt is off.

Desperately she tried to show me some other trousers as I made my getaway, but I was having none of it and fled leaving her to a long night gingerly dressing her welts whilst whimpering silently in some darkened bedroom.