I love Fridays. It’s the one day of the week I allow myself some unstructured time. Monday through Thursday, it’s all work while the kids are in school. And Saturday and Sunday, all family. But generally I can sneak a few errands in on Friday before the kids get home.
Today I needed to go to the post office, because for SOME reason when I give prizes away on Want Not people actually expect me to mail them out, or something. I don’t know. People are so DEMANDING. And although I have all the makings of a home office here in my, uh, home office, I do need to leave the house to do that. (Dear Stamps.com: Your software is incompatible with Macs. You are therefore compatible with extreme suckage. Love, Mir.)
And as long as I was headed out, I thought perhaps I’d go run some other errands. And seeing as how it’s been rather nippy here, in the mornings, suggesting that cold weather is indeed coming, I decided to go shopping for some pants.
AHAHAHAHAHA. Shopping for pants! We know how well that always goes!
But the fact of the matter is that despite the crushing sense of doom with which this endeavor fills me, sometimes it has to be done. In this case, it has to be done because:
1) I wrote that other post a year and a half ago,
2) Afterward I found myself TWO pairs of jeans,
3) When you have only two pairs of jeans that fit, they get washed a lot,
4) Jeans which are washed a lot tend to start falling apart,
5) Marriage has made me fat and happy. Ahem.
As was previously established, I will happily throw my tightwad tendencies to the wind for a decent pair of jeans, but it’s more often than not a matter of just not being able to find anything. Case(s) in point, the last two pair of jeans I purchased.
The first is a pair of Luckys, which many of you suggested for me when I explained how I commit the EGREGIOUS CRIME of having a substantial backside along with a small waist. My Luckys are completely awesome, and not just because they only cost me $10. They fit perfectly. I love them. I want to have little denim babies with them. I would happily pay the $100+ to buy another pair. They are a discontinued style, and every pair of Luckys I have tried on since then have laughed at my ass and made fun of my hair, for good measure.
The second is a pair of completely unremarkable yet comfortable jeans from Eddie Bauer. These were also just $10, owing to the fact (I’m sure) that they were irregulars—one leg was an inch longer than the other. Heh. I took them to a tailor, and another $10 later I had another pair of jeans. Hooray! I then visited the Eddie Bauer store approximately ten times, as well as ordering an assortment of jeans from the website (TWICE), before concluding that yes, Virginia, that was also a discontinued style.
Honestly, WHAT IS SO BIZARRE ABOUT THE WAY I AM SHAPED? I have ascertained, over the years, that although I am of completely average height (5-and-a-half feet) and seeming normal proportions, I have this funny mid-section thing going on. Apparently long-waistedness (is that even a word) has to do with the proportion of the torso relative to the legs. I am not long-waisted. Or short-waisted. I am average-waisted. (But not wasted. That’s different. Though trying to explain this is sort of making me wish that I was….) No, I—lovely UNIQUE SNOWFLAKE that I am—apparently have a longer-than-average distance between my belly button and my crotch. You’re welcome!
What that means is that the jeans claiming to be mid-rise are all low-rise on me. And all of the jeans claiming to be low-rise require me to get a Brazilian. (You’re welcome, again!) Theoretically this means that to get my best fit—a mid-rise—I need only to find a pant that claims to sit at-waist.
Given that I am not actually interested in wearing elastic-waist Mom Jeans, this is difficult.
Anyway. I went out to look for jeans. And I went to TJ Maxx, because I love TJ Maxx, even though I only find pants that fit there about once a year and then it’s always something that doesn’t exist anywhere else. Come to think of it, I have no idea why I shop there. BUT LO! I tried on a dozen pairs and found a suitable pair of jeans. PERFECT!
My AWESOME new jeans were only $12, and they’re a dark-wash, mid-rise, wide and straight leg denim that is the correct length for low shoes. (I do own a fabulous pair of denim trousers, but I have to wear them with heels.) I believe I got an A+ on every style metric, and the fit is perfect.
Here I am, GREAT NEW JEANS in hand, ready to buy another pair (or two or three) of the same style if I can find them, because they fit. Well, I should be in good shape, right? They’re from Lands’ End—which, yes, confirms that I am actually a suburban mom, thanks—and a style they still carry. If I’m willing to pony up the cash I should be ALL SET.
There’s just one little problem.
These jeans I just bought are irregulars. And I can’t figure out what’s wrong with them. Which means that the “irregularity” could be that they’re narrower in the waist than they’re supposed to be. Which would make sense, seeing as how this is the first pair of Lands’ End jeans in the history of the universe that WASN’T too big in the waist for me.
So I could pony up $60 for another pair, but they probably won’t be the same fit.
Alternatively, I can wear and adore this pair until they start to fall apart, and then in another year and a half I can come write ANOTHER post about shopping for jeans. (Don’t worry, I’ll try to mention the Brazilian thing again, when I do.)