Requiem for My Jeans

Requiem in Pacis Ventus Jeans

I had just come in from shoveling snow (for the thousandth time!) when I noticed. I was in my room peeling off the layers of sodden, snow-covered clothes. When I tossed my jeans into the hamper I saw the worn patch on the butt on the upper thigh. Upon further inspection I realized it wasn’t simply a worn spot. It was a hole—actually two holes—in my favorite pair of jeans. The first thought that ran through my head was, “Was this hole here when I wore these to work earlier in the week?” I quickly dismissed the thought. Surely I would have noticed the draft. Right?

The second thought was, “Why these jeans? Why my favorite jeans?” These are the jeans that are just the right shade of blue, snug enough to look good but not so tight they’re uncomfortable. My favorite thing about them? Pocket flaps. I love pocket flaps—they disguise the fact that I have no butt whatsoever. Seriously. When I go to the gym I spend a lot of time trying to get something going on back there. I’m the only one at the Y trying to work my ass on.

I dislike jean shopping the way most women dislike bathing suit shopping. I don’t worry about bathing suits. When I’m at the beach I spend most of my time chasing my boys, building sandcastles and catching minnows. I don’t worry if I look sexy or not. Besides, I am so pale my skin is nearly blue—a beach bunny I ain’t. My requirements for a bathing suit are pretty simple. It has to be comfortable, good quality and provide enough coverage so I can sunscreen all exposed skin without help from anyone else. I usually order them from Land’s End. They actually sell bathing suits with pockets. Sexy? No. Practical? Yes.

Jeans, I wear nearly every day. I have to wear them for work and they are the most versatile garments for the stay at home mom side of my life. For a while I did try wearing nicer clothes like khakis and button down shirts when I picked up the kids. But adding extra ironing to my routine wasn’t good for my health. Besides, smeared cookie washes out of denim much easier than out of poplin. I also tried wearing yoga pants like so many stay at home moms do, but it wasn’t me. I wear workout clothes when I work out and then I shower and put on jeans. Besides, yoga pants are not flattering on the buttless.

Of course, I know why my jeans wore out. They are were (sniff!) my favorite so they got worn all the time so they didn’t last as long as my less wonderful jeans. You may be asking yourself, why if these jeans were so marvelous, didn’t you buy more than one pair Vickie? Well, I tried. In fact, I bought a pair of jeans that looked just like them and had the same name. But the manufacturer changed the design somewhat. They still have the same pocket flap and they are the same shade of blue, but they are cut in such a way that they are unmistakably mom jeans. I’m a mom and I drive a minivan (a beige minivan at that!) but I refuse to wear mom jeans. I do have some pride.

The view from the back of my driveway.

My kitchen window.

The Perils of Shopping

            I’m going shopping today—clothes shopping. I hate clothes shopping. I know. I’m weird and un-American and not a real girl. Let me be clear—I love nice clothes. I love having something that looks good and is stylish and fits great. Try finding that when you’ve never quite reached the five-foot mark. My father likes to joke that in men’s clothing stores there are departments for “men” and “young men” but not “old men”. That’s funny, because they have an old women’s department. They call it “petites”.  I can find clothes that fit, but only if I need something to wear to bingo on Friday nights.

            My other alternative is to shop in the junior’s department. I have really good luck buying jeans there. I’m not exactly skinny, but I have no ass (pardon the vulgarity). Seriously, none. One sleepy morning a few years back, I was getting dressed for work and my skirt  fit much better than usual (this was back in my corporate days—no skirts at work for me anymore). Were all my workouts paying off? Nope. The skirt was on backwards. But shopping in the Junior’s department must be done carefully. There are few things more pathetic than a soccer mom trying to dress like Hannah Montana.

            I have a party to go to Sunday night to celebrate my store’s fifth anniversary. It’s casual. What does that mean exactly? How casual? Bus stop casual? Nah, paint splattered sweat pants are probably out of the question. Saturday afternoon mass casual? Nah, too “churchy”. I know, it’s more like going to a bar with friends casual. I’m not good at that. I like to go out. But it just doesn’t happen often enough for it to be effortless for me.

There are a number of women from India where I work. Last year they all wore saris to our “casual” holiday party. They looked awesome—our work uniform is jeans and unflattering mustard-colored shirts. It was cool to see them in these gorgeous fabrics. I wonder what the Irish-Italian-American version of the sari is? A denim skirt and a Guinness? A glass of Chianti? I don’t know, but I’m on a quest to find it. Wish me luck!