One day I'm constricted by full-length trousers making my shins clammy, and the next my legs are swinging free and easy in the breezy. Of course, these cut-offs do manage to wind the missus up no end, which is another bonus.
She keeps threatening to sew the bottoms up and make them look tidy, but I've pointed out that she may as well not bother as I'll be making more pairs shortly.
I work in them, I take the kids to the park in them, I go to the bank in them. They are just so versatile and comfy.
The smallest people in the house don't mind; to them I'm just dad. But the older kids are getting a bit funny about being seen in public with me.
The 11-year-old wanted me to drop him off around the corner from school the other morning so he wouldn't be seen with me, and we were in the car. So I drove him to the school gate and tooted as I left.
The thing is, I don't care what others say or think about my cut-off trousers or, for that matter, any aspect of the way I look or dress.
I never really have.
The way I see it, if people judge me by my appearance, then they're the ones who are missing out.
I'm not alone in thinking this way either. In my line of work I've met millionaires who look like they couldn't rub two cents together and I've met people dressed to the nines who are in debt up to their eyeballs.
I've been ripped off more by flash Harrys wearing suits than I ever have by someone in cut-off trackies.
I haven't got anything against people who take pride in their appearance but you just can't judge a person's worth, monetarily or morally, by their outward appearance.
And, most importantly ... my cut-off trackies are comfy.
Dan Jackson is a Whanganui journalist and part-time scrap dealer.
