You know those skinny bitches who can order jeans off the internet that they’ve never tried on before and when they arrive they fit perfectly? I am not one of them. And if you’re one of them, I’m sorry for calling you a bitch, as well as a lot of other curse words behind your back. Kind of.
I’m one of those d’Anjou-shaped women who goes to the store and apologizes to the salesperson 9,000 times for bringing 100 pair of jeans into the fitting room. And then after trying all of them on, I’m forced to pick between the pair with the 80’s wash and the pair with rhinestones on the pockets because they’re the only ones I could squeeze over my thighs.
Where am I going with all of this? Well, the other day I went shopping with my mom at my third favorite store in the whole wide world.
#2. Costco when they put out all the free samples
#3. Nordstrom, where they’ll let you return ALMOST anything (see previous blog entry What’s the warranty on a toddler?)
I vowed not to shop for new pants until I dropped this baby weight, but every time I lean over I’m petrified someone is going to notice that I’m still wearing maternity pants. As I’m standing in the fitting room in a pile of discarded jeans that must be mislabeled, I try on the last pair. Hello. What is this? A pair that fits? They’re perfect. The color, the waist, the rise, the crotch (one of those words that always makes me uncomfortable like moist and kumquat). I look at the label. NYDJ. Hmm, what does that stand for?
And then it hits me. Not Your Daughter’s Jeans. Oh no you di’n’t. I can’t buy these. Isn’t Not Your Daughter’s Jeans just a fancy way of saying Mom jeans? True, I do have a daughter of my own now and I don’t want to wear her jeans, but only because they’re the home to many poopie diapers. As I stand there staring at my finally perfect looking ass, I wonder whether it’s worth it. Should I buy a pair of NYDJ’s if I look really good in them?
So what did I do? Let’s just say if you see me looking awesome in a pair of jeans, you’re welcome to whistle at my sexy tush. Just don’t ask me why the label is scratched off.