I’m sitting in my cube today wondering “dear jebus, why did I wear pants?” Not “why did I wear these pants” or “why didn’t I wear a skirt?” No. “Why did I wear pants?”
This morning’s prep ritual was one we all hit now and again. I woke up with that lovely feeling that there’s nothing for me to wear. These are the moments that I typically pull out the most random thing I haven’t worn in the last 6 months and roll with that. So, I went to the top shelf of my closet, flipped a pile of old jeans and grabbed last fall’s Old Navy Diva skinny denim.
At this point in time, you should know that I’ve hated those pants since I bought them. After a 6-month search for skinny jeans, I bought them out of surrender. A month later, I found a pair of slender Levi’s that I continue to love. Needless to say, the Old Navy jean was never a preferred piece.
It’s also worth noting that they don’t effing stretch.
So there I am, standing in the middle of my bedroom, jeans around my mid thigh and hopping on my toes. This is the moment I realized that there’s no way to suck in your ass. If another bountiful broad out there has figured this one out, please share your secret.
When hopping failed to do the job, I had to resort to force. It began with tugging on the belt loops. First one side, then the other. Then, the front. Then, the back. I get as close as I can to working in a star-shaped pattern – if I learned anything from changing a tire on my car, this is it. Somewhere in there, I was able to create this magical leverage that pried them on, at which point in time my mind chimed “if you rip these pants like you ripped your skirt in your interview, these people are going to think you’re a walking wardrobe malfunction.” Of course, I’d already worked too hard to even consider taking them off.
I managed to finish getting ready despite not getting to bend my knees. Thankfully, this was the one day in the last month that I didn’t drop the hairspray. I tossed on a white fringe tank from last weekend’s Frankly Basic sidewalk sale and paired it with a teal jacket from last month’s Maurice’s clearance. “Fucking fashionista,” I thought.
Now, half way through the day, I’ve peed like a thousand times because these stupid jeans are squeezing my bladder. I have semi permanent indentions where all of the seams and buttons are pressing against my skin. And, best of all, I’m sufficiently motivated to go buy the gym membership I’ve been avoiding for the last 3 weeks. This entire day has been a testament to why I need to be in the gym – year-old pants that I hate don’t fit – and what I’m going to achieve – the pants that I hate will fit. I don’t even like these jeans, but like every other thing I’ve ever disliked, I can’t let them win.