My clothes begin to stare back at me from the mirror with a look of dejection. They’re tired and worn out. They plead with me to let them retire with dignity at the local Good Will as opposed to being recycled into rags or worse yet, camping out on the curb on a Tuesday night and hauled away the next morning.
For the most part I am a kind person and will take pity and donate them. But there is something in me that can’t do it with my jeans. I just can’t let go. I wear them and wear them and wear them…out. Some will get to the point where there are holes starting at the back pockets and below the zipper. Others actually get holes in the knees, and yet I can’t let go. These pairs obviously become my Sunday jeans, well, because they’re
Yesterday I got off my ass and went to the mall in search of the ever elusive pair of perfect fitting jeans. My Better Half
We got to the mall early, my route marked out as to which stores I’ve had the best luck with in the past, and a pair of slip on shoes(easy on, easy off). Now let me set the stage for you. I’m 46 years old, 5’2” and
After bypassing the tree stump garb, I find what I’m looking for; Gap Long and Lean, Classic and Straight Leg. Now My Better Half knows from experience to look for my size, grab several pairs and not make any suggestions. He knows to wait outside the dressing room in case I need help or the occasional, “Wow, those look great on you” comments. He finally understands (or claims to) that they do not make all jeans the same. Just because the tag says that two pairs of jeans are the same style, size and length, it is not true. It is a conspiracy. I do not claim to know what the strategy is; I just know this conspiracy exists. Also, The Gap has a deception of their own going on with their sizes. I understand this one though and I applaud it. They size everything smaller; I am a solid one size smaller at The Gap than I am at any other store. “Yes, Virginia, there is a…”
Shortening up a too long story, two and a half hours and 43.5 pairs later (the point five is for that pair I couldn’t get past my thighs), I walked out of the mall with three pairs of brand new jeans. Life is once again good…I can walk into work this morning without my co-workers reminding me it’s not casual Friday, and it sure as hell ain’t Holey Sunday.