Tried on jeans today. Whatever, I’m over it. I’m totally not over it. Pioneer women had it easy. One threadbare old calico dress, and one nicer Sunday dress. The end. They wore them in the fields, at the mercantile, through their entire pregnancies. Muffin top? Fuggedaboutit.
But we modern women are so smart and so advanced, aren’t we? Hey! we thought! The way it’s worked for centuries is no good. Let’s fashion for ourselves garments made of stretched denim, as to draw more attention to our shape, because that’s a good idea, for that short moment we are 18. Did we think? Did we think about all the things that could go wrong? Like all the strange little flabby places that would pop up? No, we didn’t. And now I am reaping the consequences of your thoughtlessness, flappers.
I have one pair of jeans that I love so, so much. If I were a male pair of jeans, I would marry them. They fit just right, even with the 5 pound fluctuations (“winter fluff” says the MOG). I’ve worn them for 2+ years, and the knees went out, but, hey, I don’t have a “job” and my husband’s in a band, so I can wear kneeless pants, legally. But now they’ve started wearing thin all over, and shoot… I was raised in Christian school. I wore shorts under my dresses until I was 18 or something. I am not gonna wear floozy pants, no matter how much I love them. And I bought them at a thrift, so even if I worked up my nerve and went to the real American Eagle and bought an unworn pair of pants, they probably wouldn’t be the right ones. Plus, I’d throw up and pass out from spending money. So.
So. I’ll wear my backup jeans, with all of their problems, and I will think dark thoughts.