“He is a wise man who does not grieve for the things which he has not, but rejoices for those which he has.” ~Epictetus
Second only to my hair, jeans are the bane of my existence. It would seem that I have freakishly long legs and a freakishly small budget. This is not a good combination when one is in the market for stylish denim. In fact, it quite often leads one to purchase said jeans at the Store Which Shall Not Be Named. (Rhymes with ballmart.) And then when I am wearing the aforementioned jeans from the evil empire, not only am I totally prepared for the river next to our house to overrun its banks, but I also look very much like a middle aged mother (the shame!). Sarah has mocked my mom jeans mercilessly, and she was joined recently by my little sister, who seemed embarrassed to be seen in public with me.
So a few weeks ago, perhaps in an effort to assist her seemingly stylistically challenged older sister but most likely to clean out her overstuffed closest, Annie sent up some of her old jeans for me to try on. Don’t worry about her – it’s quite possible that she has more clothes than Paris Hilton. I tried on the first pair – a size 5 – and… it fit! It fit it fit it fit it fit! IT FIT! After spending a few minutes doing a happy dance around my bedroom, real life beckoned and I headed down stairs to clean the kitchen. Yes, it’s a glamorous life that I lead. BUT, when Sarah saw me in my new/Annie’s old jeans, she said – and this is a direct quote – “Wow Mom, those look really good on you.” I know, I almost passed out, too.
All was going well. I was feeling pretty stylin’ as I swept the floor, right up until I had to bend over to use the dustpan. And suddenly I felt an uncontrollable urge to grab a wrench and fix a sink. I stood up, hiked up my pants, and went on with my day. For about twenty seconds. Then I had to bend over to pick something up, and as the Irish would say, I felt a wee bit of a breeze on me bum. Okay, I have no idea if that’s really what the Irish would say, but it sounds good. I spent the next hour or so doing low rider aerobics. Bend over, breeze on the bum, stand up, pull up pants, repeat, repeat, repeat. It was really annoying. Really annoying.
I went back to my mom jeans. They may be ugly, but at least they keep the derriere in check. And life’s too short to spend it hiking up my pants.