Forever In Blue Jeans AKA Hell

So….just an ordinary Monday night- you know, tornado warnings that make me pace. Hail raining down, 90mph winds and rain. My purse is in the tub with the pillows to cover our heads with, we all have shoes on, ready to hear the train sound and go take cover. Yeah. Just an ordinary night in Georgia. After all calms down, I’m calming myself via Facebook. Social media=social therapy. I see a post by one of my favorite bloggers, Slice of Humble. Long story short- I comment a few times, she tells me this: “I don’t say this often….but you need to start a blog. Please.”

Oh. Em. Gee.

So I sheepishly say I have one, nowhere near as good as hers, and I take the bold step…and send it to her. Low & behold, she pimps me out on her Facebook page. And says this: “If you were following the thread from an hour ago you saw me point out a Humbler’s comment and tell her to start a blog. Please go comment on her blog so she will write more words for me to read. Link in comments.”

NO PRESSURE, LISA. NONE AT ALL.

I do not want to displease, so here are some words to hopefully entertain you kids and keep me in Humble’s good graces. I wrote this several years ago- I’ve been in the process of trying to move all my old stuff over, this virtual pat-on-the-head-atta-girl may get me transferring faster now.

Without further ado…..Forever In Blue Jeans AKA Hell

Blue jeans. A staple in the wardrobe of America. A knife to the gut of those trying to find ‘the’ perfect pair.

I have yet to find a woman that says “I LOVE shopping for blue jeans! It’s my most favorite-ist shopping trip in the whole wide world!” I personally would rather join Jim Bob & Michelle and begin birthing J-named-Duggar children for them then shop for jeans.

Why you ask? Well, for me, I am short. 5-foot-nothing. My grandmother gave birth to 12 children. In the genetics, I guess it was a thought that I may also want to do so. Therefore, I received massive, childbearing hips. It only took me bearing one child to know that the hips were wasted on me. I am a wide midget. To find jeans that fit across the north 40, it’s assumed that to have an ass that big that one must also be an Amazon at 8ft. tall. Lisa, you say, they make jeans in custom lengths- get petites. Again, wide ass=petite Amazon length, like 5’10”. Capri pants are the running joke for me every summer. I can buy capris and roll them up so many times you’d think I was wearing corduroys from the swish. Not my thighs rubbing together but the 4” thick cuffs I have mid calf because be damned, I now gots me some capris.

This also brings me to the world of hip-huggers. Lisa-if your hips are that wide, hip-huggers would be perfect for you! Not so much….to wear hip-huggers effectively, it’s not the hips in question. It’s the span of area from boobs to pubes. If this girth is not in check, your hip-huggers will make you look like a tube of toothpaste that was squeezed with King Kong’s fist. Nothing worse than seeing size 9 hip-hugger jeans applied to a size 14 body. It’s not what’s crammed in the pants but all the area leftover to bulge over the top. I do have enough pride & self respect to not do this to world. The first time I tried on a pair of hip-huggers, I didn’t know it. Until I went to zip them. I pull the zipper up and am going to keep zipping except I’ve run out of zipper because they are ‘low-rise’. Hand flies off, punches me in the nose as to say “Dumbass! These are not for you! Don’t make us knock you out if you try and wear us one mo’ gin!”. I listened to the Denim Gods and have just said no.

Mom Jeans. Nope. I will not wear hip-huggers but Mom-Jeans are also not an option and a big Hell-to-the-no-no. You know what these are….jeans with small pockets on the back that makes your ass look like a double wide in a open field rather than a single wide in a park. The waist rises to somewhere right under your boobs. Typically worn by Mom’s that have a PTO t-shirt tucked in high & tight and a very skinny belt as well. Or an appliqued vest with apples or bears or something equally ridiculous. Honey, just because you’ve given birth does not mean you killed your edge for fashion. Look around…let them go. I was pilfering around in Goodwill a few weeks ago (look at me, there’s my edge for fashion right there) looking through the jeans. It made my heart skip a beat to see that the racks were FULL of all offenses of acid wash and Mom jeans!! Women are just saying NO and sending these out and even the poor people (like me!) aren’t buying them!! WOO HOO!! Box them up and send them away. Within the next few years, when you see footage of Calcutta on the news, the entire city will have high waist jeans on with their Sari’s. And I won’t be a damn bit sorry.

I went to Old Navy a few weeks ago because usually I have good luck in finding jeans. I walk in and to what do my wondering eyes should appear? ‘Classic’ jeans…mid-rise waist, fitted through the hip & thigh with a slight flair…flair as in boot leg, not Bedazzled. I’m so excited!! I’m looking through to figure what-size-will-Lisa-wear-this-week and am not real thrilled because I know it’s not the number I was going for.

Then…IT happens.

There’s a young man working there. In the Women’s section. DENIM section. Why would he do this? Why would anyone put him there?? Does he work in ladies swimsuits as well for added fun? I’m not a chauvinist, but some places are just not meant for boys to work to help women in their time of need. Splint my leg, change my tire, but DO NOT help me with jeans.

I thought well, maybe he’s gay. Then I thought Christ on a cracker, Loretta, you don’t want him to be GAY and you be FAT!! You think it’d be harsh with a straight guy, don’t get a gay one helping you find your jeans!! No no no.

Then I thought, well, he looks Hispanic. Don’t they like big butts? Larger women? We’ll make friends with his fashion knowledge and my lowrider in my pants.

Well, Lisa-love-all, didn’t you just profile/stereotype two times in a row?? GAAAAHH where’s my inhaler? Oh…they’re called Marlboro Lights and they don’t let you use them in stores. Dammitman.

Anyway….the young-not-gay-but-possibly-Hispanic young man walks up to me and says ‘Ma’am, can I help you find something? What size are you looking for?

FIRST of all…I just got ma’am’d. Anytime this happens, I’m taken aback and can’t quite function. Somewhere between Bon Jovi/Aqua Net and 2^nd grade/skateboard/Spiderman, I have become a ma’am and didn’t even see it coming.

And I say the only thing I could in my fat-ass, squatted down, loathing the jean shop, ma’am’d position.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Much like someone wearing a fur coat backs away from a PETA march, so did he. Bless his heart.

And I left with no jeans.

I went to Goodwill, got me some good stretchy acid wash numbers with a zipper and not one but 2 bows at the ankle. But NO MOM JEANS.

Sometimes, life is really good.

( I <heart> Neil Frikken’ Diamond. For serious.)