Over the past week, I engaged in a two-state, five-store quest for a pair of jeans that fit. I tried on more than fifty pairs of jeans. In front of my seven-year-old daughter, who assured me over the course of two stores that I really didn't look right in skinny jeans. Because I'm not necessarily skinny. She wasn't being mean, she was being honest, and she was actually right. I wear the fact I didn't burst out crying when she said this as a badge of honor and body acceptance. Also the fact I didn't burst out crying when subjected to high-mounted fluorescents and knees that have fallen two inches from where they were on my body in 2009.
I'm cheap and I don't like to pay more than $30 for a pair of jeans, but my booty desires a fit I've found only in more high-end brands. Hence, I do all my jeans shopping in discount stores like Gordman's, T.J. Maxx, Marshall's and the like. My body refuses to conform to the standard jeans model, whom I'm convinced now is seven feet tall and has no gradual curve between the top of her hip and the bottom. I used to think the basketball hoop formed by thirty yards of excess material directly above my ass was due to the high-waisted jeans of the late eighties and early nineties. Now with jeans more low-rise all the time, I'm flummoxed. Surely I'm not the only woman on earth in possession of a bowling ball ass? That is what weighted lunges to you! And weighted lunges are all the rage, right? Am I practicing outdated exercise? Have we moved on to ballet football?
In every store, I would select between 8-12 pairs of jeans and sit the little angel on the little stool. She would begin to critique the fit before I got them on, in most cases. To her credit, she wasn't critiquing my body -- just the fit. "Those pockets don't sit flat, Mommy," she'd say. Or maybe "I can see your underwear."
She actually is an astute shopper. It's all about the fit, ladies. Anyone can look good if the fit is right.
I left the state of Nebraska on Monday empty-handed. Last night, I challenged Missouri and its larger T.J. Maxx to the test.
The little angel and I walked into the dressing room with eight pairs of jeans. I'd since abandoned skinny and was horrified by "flare" (Little Angel: That is like a foot and a half of material across, Mommy") so basically all that was left for a 38-year-old woman is boot-cut. I got three pairs to lay flat over my unusual butt and not cause a muffin-top. However, two out of the three pairs are about five inches too long.
My inner monologue upon discovering this:
- I'm 5'6" and wear a size 8. I've always thought I was pretty average. Size 8s sell out really fast. Are size 8 women really seven feet tall now? Or are all the kids wearing five-inch heels to school with their jeans?
- Did I miss a chapter? Why am I needing to have jeans hemmed now like when I was nine years old?
HOWEVER. I was so excited the jeans fit my hips and thighs I resolved to find a tailor ASAP so I can donate the four pairs of jeans I bought in 2007 and have worn every week since then in rotation that now are so stretched-out, faded and unflattering I feel like I'm setting a new standard for mom-who-has-given-up every time I wear them.
When I was checking out last night at T.J. Maxx, the teenager who rang me up mentioned her mom wears a size 8, too. Thanks, kid. Is she seven feet tall?
Read my review of Kim Purcell's young adult novel Trafficked on Surrender, Dorothy: Reviews!
