I am sitting in the mall food court licking my wounds while dining on a small, naked (no dressing) salad and black coffee.
As Sgt. Joe Friday would say, “Just the facts, ma’am”.
It started innocently enough…as these things often do.
I went to Nordstrom at Washington Square to get a new pair of jeans.
Here is the scene of the crime.
Notice the cold, clinical setting where the three way mirror reflected without mercy my mostly naked body.
Even though I work out, watch my diet, etc…you know the drill… buying jeans is not easy unless one’s age is the same as the size of the jeans.
Only running naked through the mall can be more humiliating than trying on jeans.
Let me say: I never want to know my waist or hip size in inches! What happened to even numbers like 6, 8, 10?
Also, I want my jeans to cover my front and derriere… no super low rise for me but no mom jeans either. A mid-rise will do nicely,thank you.
With apologies to Bill Cunningham…
No, I don’t want distressed jeans…I have old pairs that fit that bill in the back of my closet. I don’t get it…paying and, sometimes paying a lot, for “distressed” jeans”?
I have a favorite pair of old, comfortable jeans that I wear at home. Their rips and frayed edges make them distressed, but I would be the one truly distressed wearing them in public!
I’m just not with it! Maybe I need to practice wearing them with aplomb.
You know, a “je ne sais quoi ” and a flip of my hair.
This Bill Cunningham fashion video might help me.
Back to the crime scene & just the facts…
The perky, upbeat slip of a salesgirl brought “my size” in a number of jeans for me to try. She brought jeans with straight legs, cropped legs, some that were so tight I worried that I could not extract my body from the denim vise. Then were colors, washes, pockets, and even one with buttons instead of a front zipper.
After discovering that my size was actually three sizes up!! from the where we started, I found some jeans that fit. Actually, the correct size might have been four sizes up. Then again, denim stretches and I could get them on. So that means that they fit, right?
But, by then, I was exhausted and not having fun. I just wanted to go home. So, I left the jeans and skulked out of the dressing room avoiding the bewildered gaze of Miss Perky Salesperson.
I knew that I would have to return at a later date and start over, but I didn’t care.
Later I did return and bought a found a pair that worked thanks to spandex! Actually, I am glad that I waited as these jeans are perfect for my figure.
Fast forward & a glutton for punishment…
A few days later, I found myself going to a sample sale in Los Angeles. The sale was in a warehouse with boxes and racks of discounted jeans.
As my friend is a size 2, she headed to the other side of the big room. Later, when I looked for her, I could not find her and thought perhaps she had gone outside.
Just as I pulled out my phone to call her, I realized that she was there and I could not find her because she was just one of many thin, gorgeous girls with long hair…all probably a size 2… trying on jeans!
No, I didn’t feel self-conscious realizing that I was holding down the other end of the bell-shaped curve. No, not at all. I mean I really love the song “All About that Bass”.
Take a moment to watch this fun video: Meghan Trainor – All About That Bass – YouTube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7PCkvCPvDXk
No, I wasn’t bothered. I mean I subscribe to the healthy self-image manifesto. What do you mean, “I am protesting too much?”
No, I don’t want to press charges. Really, it’s okay.
Time for another damn salad…