I bought jeans last night.
Jeans from The Gap. (You know The Gap - the store that previously did not carry sizes in which my ridiculous expansion project of an ass could be contained.) Anyway, not only are the jeans beautiful and lovely and from The Gap... they're also GIRL jeans!
That's right, my friends. I purchased denim apparel that was not meant to be worn by men! It's going on... well... years now.... that I would head straight to Thrifty's and grab the first pair of men's Bluenotes that camouflaged as much flesh as possible. Held up at arm's length, they were the approximate size and shape of a door - wide of hip, and straight down the sides. Rectangular, really.
Other people buy jeans that are classified as hip-huggers or low-riders or boot-cut or flared or straight-leg or relaxed-fit or, well, you’d need an index to figure out what you want to buy. Not for me, though. I just need Rectangular.
You know how there can be jeans that you'd never wear out of the house because they're paint-stained and ripped and shouldn't be worn in public? And there are jeans that you'd wear out of the house, but only for, like, going to the library, or to the mall, or to your best friend's house so you can eat far too much Taco Bell, smoke your face off, and watch 6 hours worth of Buffy re-runs? Yeah, the only denim I've ever been able to own started out as the latter and ended up as the former. Nothing more, nothing less. Because while there are jeans made expressly for the purpose of being worn only after 9:00, on a dance floor, while you're shaking the booty and wearing a pair of bad-ass boots and a tiny little top that sparkles and matches your eye-shadow, broads such as I knew better than to attempt donning them. 'Cuz people, that just isn't right. Much in the way that McDonald’s knows better than to create something called McFilet Mignon, I knew better than to even attempt a pair of after-sundown jeans.
But the jeans I bought last night... I was a little worried, because they do hug the bottom a little, but according to Christine, the salesgirl and my new best friend, they’re supposed to do that. I needed some convincing.
“Oooh those look HOT on you, girl!”
“But… but… you can see the whole shape of my bum!”
“Honey, that’s a GOOD thing.”
“SHUT UP! Really?”
“Ye-eah, of course.”
“No, this just can’t be. You can see where my butt ends and my thighs begin. Are you sure it’s supposed to happen like that? Because to me, this just looks like my pants are too small.”
“They’re not too small.”
“I think they’re too small. Really.”
“They’re NOT too small.”
“You know, maybe if I could just try a size bigger…”
“Squat. And then do some lunges. And then bend over and touch your toes. If you can do all that, while breathing comfortably and not ripping the seams, they’re not too small.”
“But you can see my bum.”
“Did you think you’re the only one that has one?”
“Well, no, but…”
So, I bought the jeans. They’re not super low or anything, but they’re far lower than I’m used to wearing, considering I used to wear jeans which had a waistline that would rest a comfortable inch and a half below my bra. They’re a bootleg cut, and they’re that dark, farmer blue that looks horrible and dated when they’re just lying on your bed, but sexy and slimming when you’re wearing them.
And they were made specifically for girls. I bought jeans for girls, and it wasn’t a horrible and humiliating shopping experience.
Who knew denim could bring such joy?
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