Just so you know, it's 6:00 in the morning and already a balmy 82 degrees. By the time I leave for work, it will be 90 and by the time the noon whistle blows (this really existed a one point in time), it will be around 105 degrees. Summer has found my little "neck in the woods." And, its just begun.
I invested in a pair of "skinny jeans" ... the latest, greatest designer flair with pockets that say "touch me here," and a price tag that ensures my family is on an involuntary diet until my next paycheck. Time to start cracking the wheat in the food storage and call that dehydrated mystery meat "delicious" because the cupboards are going to be bare...but I am going to look fantabulous, baby!
Bless the sweet salesgirl, she found a pair to "fit" me. Now I love shopping for clothes, but having designer jeans "fit" means I have not eaten all day, taken a water pill or two, and have on several layers of lycra. Almost as bad as shoe shopping, only I can forgo the standing on my head for thirty minutes to make sure my ankles have shrunk and I can wiggle my toes. I have a twenty minute window after that to find the shoes that feel like they will be somewhat comfortable when my feet swell to normal again.
I wriggle into the denim, containing just enough stretch to allow my thighs entrance. Granted, I can suck furniture across the room when I hold my stomach in to zip them up, and the "muffin top" is hardly noticeable...when worn with a parachute. I admire my reflection, thinking I am one hot mama, and will have no trouble losing 5 pounds before actually wearing them in public. I didn't want to stress out my sales person by asking for a size bigger, because her eyes went wild when I told her to find me a pair in the first place and she took inventory of my lower regions. "No problem," was her confident statement when she staggered to the back room. I thought her breath held a hint of alcohol when she came back, but she had my size (or the one I was fitting into come hell or high waters).
I proudly strutted in my skinny jeans several times before the inevitable happened. I washed them.
Note: It is a scientific phenomena that something unexplainable happens when clothing is laundered. It shrinks. The label can promise you anything, but it's going to happen. Unless its underwear. That "grows." Shrinkage in the washer follows the same mystery as missing socks. Put two in, one comes out. The other has sought freedom in "sockland."
I don't dry my fabulouso denim wonders to insure only the minuscule of shrinkage. I wait for what seems like "forty days and forty nights" for those embellished pockets to dry, then excitedly slide, or tried to anyway, my jeans on. Something happens part way up my leg. The denim fuses to my skin, refusing to budge. Well hell.
I tug, jump, and go through various stages of my old ballet routine,fist position, squat, plie, squat deeper, lift one leg and yank, lift second leg and yank. Finally, over the knee caps. I'm almost there! Feeling triumphant and exhausted, I drop to my stool to gather strength. We are going up the thighs! At this point I decide in the future, to put jeans on "wet" and let them dry on my body. After several minutes of repeating my new calisthenics program and checking for a pulse, not to mention needing to towel off from working up a sweat, I'm ready to lay flat on the floor and zip the jeans shut. I lay there for several minutes, pulling oxygen back into my flattened lungs, before deciding to sit up. I feel my internal organs readjust at that point. Somewhere near my shoulder is my spleen.
But I'm back in my skinny jeans! Granted, I need to wear them around the house for a while until I can walk upright and those pockets that say "touch me here" are back on my derriere instead of behind my knees, but they are plastered on my body by damn! I search my closet for a top that will strategically cover my backside "smile" and billow slightly to make my thunder thighs appear smaller. My mirror has that little warning label in the corner..."all objects are actually bigger than they appear."
I pay particular attention to my makeup so my beauty will distract from the fact I'm walking like something is terribly wrong, even applying a touch of glitter around my eyes to make sure whoever I talk to will keep eye contact, if for no other reason than to say, "really? glitter?" Out of the five pairs of new shoes I purchased, I'm down to two that last longer than an hour on my feet, which I slip on and head out the door.
Later that night, when I peel the denim off my legs, rub the red indentation out of my waist and pry my shoes off my swollen feet, I decide to soak my abused body in my hot tub. The temperature is a perfect 102 degrees, the light set at a soft lavender hue under the swirling bubbles, and a candle is lit to insure ultimate relaxation. I pull my swimsuit out to put on.
My new "miracle suit." You with me? That's right. It's six inches by six inches, but guaranteed to make me look like a Victoria Secret Angel. Fitting into my skinny jeans is a walk in the park, compared to inching my way into industrial strength lycra, only to have my torso appear slim and trim...however...the "excess" has to go somewhere. Hello mega legs and arms...I think my eyes are bulging out of the sockets and my lips have disappeared into my new puffy cheeks. I am definitely a "secret angel" .... one to be kept hidden!
How about you? Got a "skinny jean" story? Ever try to fit into something that's really not you. Become someone you're not? A "secret angel?" We all have different faces we try on depending on circumstance. Just remember, if it's not you, it's not going to fit comfortably. Here's to elastic waistbands and being "real."
Thanks for stopping by and sharing a laugh. Still keeping the skinny jeans. Still dieting. Just looking for a different mirror! See you on the weekend!
18 comments:
You know how I feel about skinny jeans...
http://kerriganbyrne.blogspot.com/2011/02/open-letter-to-skinny-jeans.html
But, mostly its just jealousy. I'll bet you look sexy, dear!
I was determined to look like a YA writer when I got home from the retreat. So I got my hair cut and had an aqua blue extension added to the side of my head.
No one noticed. I had to point it out.
My 18 yr old looked at it and said...hmn.
Now I'm trying to figure out how to prop a big yellow arrow on my head that points to the blue.
I know my hair bling was only five bucks, but I'm determined to get some attention out of it before my hair grows over it.
Next time, it's feathers, right up front.
I will be young. I will be young. I will be young...
Inside, I'm still seventeen. Just have to convince the "outside!" I think you should post a picture of your blue locks.
I remember when I was in my teens the whole group of us girls would buy long pants, take them in on the sides and sew them to supposedly "fit" then lay on the floor and put them on. Granted, we couldn't bend our knees when we walked and must have looked pretty darn weird, but we were "cool". Yeah, right!
Patti
This was great, I laughed out loud. I love the Killers and several of the other things you have listed as favorites. Who knew? :)
I recall stuffing my post pregnancy, bread-dough belly into jeans and wanting to cry at the squish over the waist line. More than muffin top here.I got over it. Why do we do it?
Love the post. So funny.
I can remember when it didn't bother me to wear clothes that tight, but now the slightest snug feeling makes me uncomfortable.
I'm not quite ready for elastic band pants, but the more comfortable the better.
Too funny about the growth of underwear. As always, great post. You always make me laugh.
This is hilarious! Loved it. Almost as much as my fat jeans...
How about yoga pants, with long, long shirts...
Thanks for the laugh on a laughless day.
Skinny story: Well, not sure this fits. I have, in the past couple of years adopted a Stevie Nicks circa 1970 look. The same one "Nancy" was making fun of in Sid and Nancy.
Remember Risky Business from the 80s? Sometimes you really do gotta say, "What the F---!" And make your move.
Unfortunately, my move was to loose, flowing hippy clothes. LOL
I dare not try the skinny jeans. They will just scream "FAT" as soon as I put them on. I shudder just thinking about it.
Hilarious! I remember those moves from my younger days. I can't believe I never passed out from organ constriction and loss of oxygen. Today I give thanks for stretch denim. I'm all for comfort. :-)
I hate skinny jeans- I don't like the way they look on anyone. I ahve had my share of lying on the bed to zip up jeans- and back in the 80's I owned a pair of jeans so tight they had zippers on the ankles so you could get them over your feet.
I love this. It reminds me of the day I wore a brand new pair of dark washed denim and couldn't figure out why my hands were turning blue. I called my doctor, certain that there was something terribly wrong. Then I found out that my nervous habbit of tucking my hands under my thighs when I sit had caused the dye to transfer to my hands-and the entire lower half of my body. :-)
Well at least my coffee cup was already empty as I read this weeks post, Joelene. All I had to do was pinch my bladder shut and nod.
Been there, done that. Have the shirt to prove it. Yet, I still find myself doing the same thing after spending too much time with my svelte and sexy daughters. Did those girls really come from me? Or did the hospital pull a cruel trick and switch them at birth, from that secret stash of babies they keep on hand, for just this purpose?
Hi -
I read your post yesterday on my morning commute. I was in the quiet car. I was laughing so hard that the conductor came over to me to 'see what was the matter.' Luckily, the train was almost into the station.
I too have a pair of skinny jeans. With glitz on the tushy pocket. I love them (so does my grand daughter).
Thank you so much for a really fun post. I was chuckling all day.
... Ruth
Sorry I've always been a comfort girl, even as a teenager. I mean I like things to fit but not binding you like a mummy.
It did't make sense to me, just like those rabbit jackets I'd see girls wear when waiting for the bus in 30 degree weather. Sure you look good when you first leave the house but after awhile a shivering, blue body is not cute.
What a hilarious post! Hilarious because of your telling and because I related to every point.
I don't have a skinny-jean story but I have a skinny dress story.
We were going to a Sweet 16 party and rather than buy a new dress, I figured I'd wear one of the lovelies hanging in my closet. Trust me, when you slip a garment over your head and can only fit one arm through the armhole while your other arm winds up bent and plastered to your boob, you know you're in trouble and should STOP right there.
I didn't. I forced my way into that top only to feel like I was wearing a corset that started at my neck. Getting it off was worse. I managed to cross my arms in front of me and pull the bodice up. After that, things got tricky and, trust me again, there's little more frustrating for a woman than finding herself pretzeled in her own clothes.
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