I wear pin stripe pants. Once a week I put on the black pin stripe pants. They go in the wash every Saturday and they come out every Sunday, ready for another week at the office. My collection of jeans sits on my shelf collecting dust and every morning, when I pull out the pin stripe pants, I stare longingly at blue denim, folded neatly in a pile. After a good long, thoughtful stare, I put on the pin stripe pants even though I hate pin stripe pants, and I dash out the door and into my car and I begin the long and tedious drive to work. You know, there used to be a time when all I wore was jeans. Jeans and t-shirts are the perfect outfit. You can wear jeans and t-shirts anywhere - anywhere that is, except to a desk job.

I still hate pin stripe pants, but I wear them to a place that pays the bills. My disdain of pin stripe pants is outweighed by a desire to pay off all of the institutions to which I am indebted. Paying off a student loan somehow seems more important than making a fashion statement. Microsoft doesn't take too kindly to people who don't dress like professionals, and even though I don't feel like a professional, I'm still forced to act like one. When people fail to meet deadlines that make my job miserable, I'd like nothing more than to throw out a few choice four letter words, but of course, professionals in pin stripe pants are always well spoken and remain calm and collected under pressure.

After a long day of "Greetings," and "This request requires your approval before close of business," repeated until the words seem to bear no meaning, I drive myself home and I wonder - how did it come to this? When did I decide it was okay to sacrifice a little bit of who I was in order to pay my rent? When did I settle for a job that pays twice minimum wage (and therefore twice as much as any of my friends make, as I often like to point out) but that leaves me feeling unhappy and unsatisfied and unfulfilled?

I'd like to tell you it was from the very moment I bought, nay tried on my first pair of pin stripe pants, but that would be a lie and a very blatant lie at that. The other day I signed on to Whyville and the realization hit me - I used to believe I could save the world. And perhaps that is a slight hyperbole, but I believed at the very least that I could be making a difference in the world. How then, did I come to end up in a place where I move around millions of dollars in revenue a day, but I can't do anything useful with all of this cash?

You might wonder how this ties into pin stripe pants, but I'd like to recall a time on Whyville. Does anyone remember when the octopus used to greet all of Whyville's citizens, new and returning? Have you seen that octopus lately? If he had a name, I don't remember it, and he has all but disappeared off the face of the planet. Will that be me one day, or worse has it already happened? I used to wear jeans and t-shirts day in and day out, and life was good. But now I wear pin stripe pants and I've forgotten what it's like to put on my favorite jeans, the ones that I always wore with my favorite pair of Chucks.

I'd like to tell you that there's something wrong with me - I once fantasized about all of the creative ways I could "stick it to the man" as they say. My best friend and I had all sorts of plans that involved us being everything from professional bank robbers to supermodels. And now all I dream about is a day off or working on statutory holidays, when I get paid time and a half.

I know I've said that Whyville has changed for the worst, if not publicly, then privately. I think maybe I'd like to retract that statement, because I've come to realize that an octopus and a pair of jeans are just a starting point, and they were an excellent starting point for me because they gave me a sense of who I was. And maybe it's time to accept change, just as I've accepted that it is a natural progression in life, to no longer be greeted by an orange octopus, instead say "Good morning," to the office secretaries.

Maybe change in Whyville isn't such a bad thing, and maybe it isn't the fact that I am old-fashioned in a new-fangled Whyville. No my friends, the fact of the matter is that I just need to learn to accept that I, like 6.5 billion other people, have gotten old(er).