I wore tight red leather pants today. I readily admit that I’ve been wearing them all week. My mom got me them for my birthday. People at the grocery store noticed me, but I'm still not sure if they're perplexed or turned on. I wore them to church last Sunday. The pastor, elders, and parishioners gave me looks of disapproval. (It felt similar to the time I wore assless chaps at my nephew’s bar mitzvah.) But I didn’t care. You know why? Because it just feels so frickin’ good to wear those things. I like to prance around in them and feel sexy. Most guys my age don’t wear pants like this, and it’s a real shame. People can be so judgmental. I like to think I’m paving the way for other men who’ve always aspired to don these hot trousers but fear jeers from the cruder elements of our society. If I wear them enough, though, critics will start to say: “Ya know, we were wrong about a middle-aged man wearing those pants. What we once thought was inappropriate, unseemly, and downright gross, we now see as refreshingly sassy and sensuous. It’s as though the veil were lifted from our eyes.” If you see a tall bald guy with a playful spring in his step and sporting red leather pants that look like they’ve been spray painted on, chances are it’s me, Der Viator. I feel so good in them. Then again, it might be one of the many poor souls I’ve liberated.