I’m on borrowed time. I know this. It isn’t good. It’s going to happen and it’s going to happen at the least opportune time. I’ll be out and about and boom. Or I’ll have my hands full with a posse of pre-adolencents around. It couldn’t happen alone in my house with no witnesses. No no no, that is not how things are done around here. Never has been, never will be. It will happen in the most obvious, embarrassing, and inconvenient way possible. Around every camera phone in the tri-state area.
My favorite jeans, the ones I wear nearly daily (hey, I work from home and it’s better than yoga pants), are worn paper thin in the nether regions. I guess a couple years of non-stop inner thigh friction will do that. It’s a miracle I haven’t started a fire, though that would certainly warrant a mention. Maybe I’d be warm for a change. I figure I have a week, two at the most, before there is a psyche-splitting riiiiiiip and instant air conditioning.
I hate shopping. I especially hate shopping for jeans. I’m nearly six feet tall, almost all leg, have hard to miss thighs, a significant amount of junk in the trunk, and a not-entirely-proportional waist. Imagine a string bass and you may be close. (And here is where my husband jumps in to point out that I like to exaggerate for effect. While he is technically correct, I’m closer to a string bass shape than, say, a flute). So jeans shopping is unpleasant at best. They are never long enough, cost a freaking fortune, have to be cinched in at the waist (ooh! attractive!), and the size/length/color/style I want is always the one missing. I apparently have a jeans dopplegänger. I should find her, we could share closets. And when the angels sing and the clouds part and I find exactly what I want, it is always discontinued when I return to buy more.
It appears that Saturday afternoon will now be dedicated to the Impossible Dream of finding jeans. Maybe I’ll get lucky and actually hit that particular windmill on the first (or eighth) try for a change. But it’s gotta be done; I can’t chance flashing unsuspecting victims. They’d never recover and I can’t have that karma hanging over me. Not to mention the pictures.