Mission Impossible

Yesterday I embarked on a mission as hazardous, frustrating, and fruitless as any crusade in my life.

Yes, I went shopping for jeans. This is on par with going bathing suit shopping, except I KNOW a bathing suit won’t hide any sins, I expect more from a pair of jeans.

First, let me prepare you for the reason for my angst. . .

I am tall—around 5’9” tall, and a good majority of that is in my legs. I’m also rather large around the middle. I’m shaped kind of like an apple on two asparagus stalks. Finding a pair of jeans that are long enough involves digging through rack after rack of jeans. If I’m lucky enough to find a pair that won’t look like Capri pants, I then need to find a size that will fit around my rather rotund tummy.

I don’t know how many size 0, 2, or 4 women are out there buying jeans, but apparently, they must be legion, because those were all the sizes that were in stock at the stores I was visiting. Maybe the size 12 and 14 women had already swooped down and picked up the jeans in my size, I don’t know. All I know is, I could find one, maybe two pairs of jeans in my size after searching through mountains of denim. When I did miraculously find a pair in my size, the waist was so low, I had the mother of all muffin tops hanging out.

It’s enough to make a girl switch to mom jeans! (Because, God forbid, I actually diet and exercise.)

I wonder if this experience will translate to my next story? Perhaps my next heroine won’t be svelte and will have trouble finding clothes that fit. Maybe, just maybe, this experience will make me a better writer.

It sure didn’t help me get a new pair of pants!