Mirror, Mirror On The Wall...
It's kind of like winning the damn lottery. Darn near impossible with odds I wouldn't bet my life savings on.
I have a few rules when it comes to my quest for the perfect fit. First off, I recognize I have given birth to three very large babies. Which means I have a nice roll around my midsection of loose, hanging flesh which I affectionately call my "Jelly roll." It doesn't matter how skinny a woman is, once she's been stretched to the limit a few times, she better include that excess skin in her self-esteem definition. Because short of paying someone to carve it off, it ain't going anywhere.
So no muffin top. I don't want to be hanging out in any direction. And while my hubs might like the crack of my ass, I don't think it necessary to show it off to the folks at the nearest grocery store. Or to any one else.
That effectively rules out low-riding jeans. But to my dismay, my choices were limited to either the low-riding, sausage-making jeans and those back-from-the-past, dreaded skinny jeans. Someone is having a good giggle at my expense some where.
(Don't even get me started on stretchy denim, either. Because you know that those suckers are gonna slide down and you are constantly going to be hiking them up. Oh, you'll try to do it discreetly, but you know that cute bag boy is gonna see you do it. As will the haughty rich bitch who you have an unspoken rivalry with and your school principal. Both of whom you will have to face at the next parent council meeting, while trying to ignore the fact that your jeans are slowly falling south.)
I felt like I was in a really bad episode of Punked and I was just waiting for Mr. Kutcher to point and laugh and tell me where the camera's were. That is, if I was famous...
I just want to know who the hell thought it would be a good idea to bring back the fucking skinny jeans, or drainpipes as the sales girl kept referring to them. I'm a fairly slim chicky, and let me tell you, those damn jeans added thirty pounds and shortened me by four inches. My self-esteem will never be the same again. Those puppies may look good on models like Miss Moss, but really, I don't have enough money to snort the amount of cocaine needed to get thin enough to look good in those damn jeans.
And to add insult to injury, the stores all want an obscene amount of money so you can wander around with your muffin top, or your delusions-of-grandeur skinny jeans, so people can point and snicker and whip out their camera phones to post pictures of you and your denim dreams on their blog.
Good times, dear internet. Good times.
The only saving grace to the day, was towing my best friend along with me.
Did I mention she is five months pregnant?
Trust me, any jean looks great next to the dreaded pregnancy jeans. I really had nothing to complain about.
Watching her try to stuff herself into those puppies, especially the ones with the elastic front panels, really made me feel a bit better about my choices.
After all, what good is having a pregnant best friend if you can't occasionally step on them to boost your own self-esteem once in a while?
For all you raging, hormonal blog friends of mine, don't worry, she got the last laugh. We went bra shopping after. And her swelling mammaries shamed my non-existent, sagging A-cup beaver tails....
As a salve to my wounded spirit, it was my delight to discover that the incomparable Mrs. Chicky has made Nixon, the World's Greatest Dog. Ever. her doggie of the week on her other great blog.
So, I'm urging you to wander over there, take a look at my darling pup, and read about my hairy, little beast.
We are one step closer in global domination...