Rob's Pants

This weekend, Mask and I ventured to New York for an event that I will blog about in a later post.  While planning the trip, we made arrangements  to have dinner with our former teammate Rob, who had moved to New York a few months earlier.  

A little background information about Rob – he is a high level white belt in jiu jitsu, but a high level brown belt in baking.  The latter is a fact we discovered as he was planning his move, using up what was left in his cupboard, and baking treats for all his friends – that is, all his friends except me.  As cruel fate would have it, this was the same time that I was  trying to make weight for the Pan Ams, so I was unable to indulge in any of these scrumptious sweets. So imagine  my delight when I received the following message from Rob – “Can I interest you in a large batch of homemade baked goods?” Um, how ‘bout a big, fat YES!  I promptly responded with an affirmative. But, as with getting baited during a jiu jitsu roll, when something appears too good to be true, it usually is. 

“Concerning the goodies, there's just a small catch," Rob wrote. "I need someone to pick up a pair of dress trousers from my former apartment building...”

My jaw dropped. It appeared Rob viewed me on the same level as a golden retriever – a good pal and generally willing to perform for treats. I was insulted that Rob thought I could be bought with a sugary bribe. But, on the other hand, his brownies are really, really,  good. And like Lassie, I am not one to turn down a mission. So I drove to Rob’s apartment, talked to the leasing agent, collected the trousers from the building's dry cleaning, and then debriefed about the operation to my teammates. 

Now, by all appearances, Rob is a wholesome young man with old fashioned values. Indeed, he is the only person I know under the age of 60 who uses the word “trousers.” So I was shocked, absolutely shocked, to discover just how many of my teammates had gotten into Rob’s pants. I collected the following evidence:

Rob's pants: a photo montage

No wonder Rob had to have the pants dry-cleaned.

Of course, I did not release this evidence to Rob until long after I collected the baked goods and was safely out of striking distance. 

The one redeeming factor amidst all this depravity is that Rob and his pants appear to be equal opportunity philanderers.  They do not discriminate on the basis of race, gender, religion, nationality, or jiu  jitsu skill level. 

Still, how about a little restraint?