My mom has been on my case about what in her mind is an egregious "sagging" problem for years now. Every time I return home, within minutes of my arrival, she makes some pointed remark about my jeans (usually mid-sentence in a story she's telling about something completely unrelated). "Really, Josh? Do you see where those pants are falling on your waist?" "Josh, just being honest, you look completely ridiculous." (A common variant: the television will be on and she'll say something like, "Josh, do you see how Mario Lopez's pants look compared to yours?")
There's something about the clichéd nature of the complaint and her refusal to quit the campaign and the fact that my pants really don't sag that low (I swear!) that makes this ribbing mostly innocuous and charming to me. Sometimes I'll protest ("These aren't the kind of pants I wear out in New York!" "You have no idea how people dress," etc.) but most of the time, especially as of late, I'll just respond by rolling my eyes exaggeratedly or hiking my pants up to right below my chest ("Happy now?" "Yes.").
I imagine everyone has something like this with their mom - some weird, idiosyncratic, nitpicky thing that she just can't seem to let go of. In college, every time she brings whatever it is up (on Parents Weekend, at Thanksgiving, etc.) is so irritating; it only makes your parents seem crankier and more out-of-touch. But eventually their familiar, specific nagging feels as much a part of home as your childhood bed. You're 25 and so many aspects of your life seem like they're spiraling, but knowing your mom is out there worrying about the waist of your pants somehow keeps you from drifting out into orbit.
I imagine everyone has something like this with their mom - some weird, idiosyncratic, nitpicky thing that she just can't seem to let go of. In college, every time she brings whatever it is up (on Parents Weekend, at Thanksgiving, etc.) is so irritating; it only makes your parents seem crankier and more out-of-touch. But eventually their familiar, specific nagging feels as much a part of home as your childhood bed. You're 25 and so many aspects of your life seem like they're spiraling, but knowing your mom is out there worrying about the waist of your pants somehow keeps you from drifting out into orbit.