This morning I took K shopping for some summer things. Feeling frustrated about weight-gain, I decided to forego my lower-rise boot leg or flairs for ... my old, comfortable, reliable "mom jeans." You know the ones I'm talking about, the jeans featured in the old Saturday Night Live mockumercial. Maybe this picture will jar your memory. Or your gag reflex.
You know, you can bend in these things and not worry about showing your ugly underwear waistband that you forgot not to wear when you slipped on your cute jeans. There is no draft. There is a handy-dandy kangaroo mama pouch in front to hold your three-months-along shape 15 years after your last pregnancy.
But when I went into the fitting room with K, I saw myself in the triple mirror. Horrified, I wanted to buy something, ANYTHING, even a clearanced Christmas tablecloth, to wear instead.
I said, "K! Why did you let me wear these out of the house?" She said, "I was pretty sure Stacy and Clinton wouldn't be here." [The only possible high point of this whole ordeal.]
I remember when these things used to be in style. Remember this cool group?
Yeah, well Tori is wearing the same jeans I wore today. I told K. I was going to throw them away as soon as I got home. But when I took them off, I thought, "You know, I'd better not pitch them. I may need them when I paint. Or when I'm bloated. Or when I'm sad because my husband has left his out-of-shape wife and my kids have finished college and have lives of their own in Ft. Collins, Colorado, and I'm too old for youth ministry and I need to bend to feed my 17 cats who live with me." So they're back in the top of my closet--ugly old security pants!
Rock on. *I knew this might happen; someone asked if this picture is actually me. No, it is not. I may admit to and provide factual, photographic evidence of a lot of dumb things about myself, but a shot like this would not be one of those moments.