I was on the phone with my little sister earlier this week (another perk of getting older is that you actually enjoy and seek out your siblings and really don’t care if they borrow your sweater!) and she suggested a topic on which for me to write. Sort of like English class, (is it even called “English” anymore? I cannot imagine that in this politically correct, let’s- not-hurt-anyone’s-feelings-and-everyone-gets-a-trophy environment that it is. Don’t tell me what it’s called; I don’t want to know.) when your teacher gave you a topic and then forty five minutes to write it and suddenly you blanked and instead spent the time writing letters to your friends and then folding them into origami? (I can’t imagine that kids today know any origami, or how to make that folded up paper fortune game. I am sure there is an app for that.) Only, I am not blanking (good news for you!).
She didn’t so much “suggest “but rather “loudly express her distaste”. Laura, it turns out, is so over- WAIT FOR IT- low rise pants, especially jeans. And frankly, I agree with her. (She rectified her situation by going on a shopping spree at Ann Taylor Loft. Oh, to be young and not paying for daycare again!) Things I am also so over include wearing white after Labor Day, and wearing sandals in the winter (a recent trip to Miami was so exhausting for me. I mean really- it was JANUARY.) I don’t care what the thermometer says, the calendar trumps.
But, back to low rise pants. They are awful, and unless one is under 18, impossible to pull off. And, no one under 18 needs to be wearing them. (Have you seen what passes for “clothes” these days?! Here is another sign I. Am. Old. (and still not caring!)) For years, I have battled the inner Julia on a variety of topics. Interestingly enough, most of my material comes from ignoring her. She is sort of boring. However, in this case, she was right. Let’s start with the low rise part. If one is to wear them, one cannot eat or drink anything lest your tummy puff out (also known as ‘muffin top’). This should be a mutually exclusive event, as the pants are designed among other things (I cannot imagine anything else but I am giving the benefit of the doubt here) to entice your date, and what does one do on a date? (Keep it clean folks, my daughter might one day read this and as far as she is concerned, dates happen at Church. In separate pews.) As many dates take place in restaurants, eating and drinking are required. Strike One.
No shirt ever, ever comes close to covering that strip of skin on one’s back that is exposed anytime one moves when wearing low rise Jeans. This makes for a very uncomfortable, chilly draft. If you are constantly rearranging your clothes, both you and the clothes look stupid. Strike Two.
The lower back is not the only thing that gets exposed. (Have you ever noticed that tramp stamps and low rise jeans are a match made in heaven? And the tighter the pants, the larger the tat? This would be a great idea for a government research grant.) One’s underpants are also out for God and country to see. Unless you are a Victoria’s Secret model, no one wants to see your underpants. (And frankly, I don’t want to see theirs either.) Strike Three.
Low Rise Jeans- You’re Outta Here!
I had my own excommunication of Low Rise Jeans last winter. Despite the fact that I am A) over 18 (and over 30, but that’s neither here nor there), B) a mother (unless you are either a freak or a fitness instructor, I‘m sorry, that shit doesn’t go back. I do not want to hear about sit-ups, kegel exercises, or any other stupid idea that clearly was that of a male who has never had a child; They don’t work.), C) always cold (that chilly draft mentioned in strike two was really annoying, as was the constant pulling of clothes), and D) my underpants hung out, I persevered. I was flat stomached (sort of, especially when I sucked it in), young (enough), and so fashionable (riiight). Also cheap. I had several “good” (expensive) pairs, and I didn’t want to buy more. I ignored inner Julia (and my husband). My final breaking moment: When my daughter, who had just learned to walk, snuck up behind me and SNAPPED MY THONG UNDERPANTS. Oh, the HORROR! Also- terrible role model behavior.In retrospect, I was scared of the dreaded “Mom Jeans”. For good reason- they are dreadful! All acid washed, high waisted, and big in the hips. Oh, and tapered. My other sister, who I also really like came to visit me and braved the shopping for new jeans trip to the mall with me. Bloomingdale’s, I totally heart you. If I wasn’t already married and wasn’t going to marry a chiropractor next (I could get adjusted every day!), I would marry you. You have always come through for me, especially when the pressure is on. In fact, I would give you one half of a BFF necklace if I thought you would wear it (I never got one of those. And I wanted one so badly!)
After a very painless shopping trip, I have cute jeans, that are appropriately waisted (not too high, not too low), are cute, and, most importantly, have zero strikes! I just love a happy ending! (I wish my happy ending included more shopping at Bloomingdale’s…)
No comments:
Post a Comment