Bought myself a pair of new jeans the other day. I figure when the inseam on old ones start getting that white, frayed, poofy look, holes are not far behind. There's distressed, and then there's falling apart at inopportune moments.
The reason the old jeans were so tattered looking is because I hate shopping for jeans for myself almost as much as I hate shopping for jeans for the Little Princess. I can avoid the Hoochie-Mama low risers so prevalent among the pop-tart set, but there's no escaping the spandex-infused, "instantly slims you" fabric.
Ick. If I wanted to wear tights, I'd wear tights. I want good, old fashioned, 100% cotton, heavy-duty dungarees. Preferably dark enough to look like they're new. Hellooo. I have a shelf full of faded out, see-through thin jeans with that "worn look." I'm replacing them. I want to be able to tell the difference.
I resigned myself to the "instantly slims you" type, because I had no choice. Found a couple pair that had a "natural rise" waist, not the "don't forget to shave your pubie" rise. And they were dark blue. More or less.
The fit wasn't too bad. I was pleasantly surprised. Even in the store's evil, pound adding, sideshow mirror with shadow casting florescent lighting, these jeans looked good. Not too tight in the seat, not too loose in the thigh (Bwaa haa haa haaa. Like that's been a problem since... ever.), just a little gap around the waist band. Yeah, I don't understand that one either. It's like my body is taking that "hour glass shape" thing just a little too seriously. Maybe if I stand on my head everything will migrate back up to where it belongs. Including my boobs.
I even tried them on a second time at home before laundering them. Oh yeah, I launder all clothes before wearing. I've seen enough investigative reports to know that wearing unlaundered clothes is just asking for some deadly skin disease that only the CDC has ever heard of and won't be able to identify until after your autopsy.
Life would have been good if I had stopped there. But no. I did actually wash and dry them.
Now my thighs look, and feel, like overstuffed sausages. The only reason I don't have camel toe is because the jeans are too tight across my thighs to actually get up into my crotch. My tummy is so squished I have a constant urge to pee.
Yet despite this vise-like squeeze, the "natural rise waist" continues to move south. I feel like those kids I've seen over in Iowa City with their waist bands down around the bottom of their butt cheeks. Except that their jeans were all baggy and kind of puddled down around their knees. Mine fit like when I accidentally squeezed my tall, pregnant body into petite-size pantyhose. Don't ask.
But, you know, they don't look half bad. My butt is actually up where it belongs. The lower, looser waist eliminates "muffin top." Sure they're squeezing the heck out of my thighs and I'll be running to the bathroom every five minutes. It's a small price to pay for fashion.
Between the hitchin' and the runnin', I'll be moving so much no one will have time for a close look, so they just might work!