For the record:
I’m somewhat like a cat (insert pussy joke here) in that I don’t like to get dirty (playing dirty is another matter entirely) or (heh) wet. (There are exceptions to the ‘wet’ rule, but explanations will have to wait, for they run contrary to the purpose of this post.)
Taking the above information into consideration: It was raining when I left for work this morning. I drag my arse out of bed much earlier than the Mister. And I leave two hours before he does in the morning, so it’s my husband’s job to walk the dog. Especially when it’s raining.
On with the post…
I don’t like to shop. (You realize by now that I’m not a stereotypical female, right?) Ill-lighted stores filled with over-perfumed humanoids toting their squalling spawn send me into a killing rage. Add in sales people who are clock-watching and really bad Muzak, and let’s just say it’s not a pleasant experience.
And lines? Don’t even get me started on lines. I don’t like trying things on, but I especially don’t like waiting in line to do it. And I’ve been known to leave hundreds of dollars of merchandise sitting on the floor at the check-out because if there’s more than one person ahead of me, I’m outta there. It is the avoidance of lines that keeps me out of all stores (including the grocery store) from November to February.
So, I despise shopping in general.
But I *hate* jeans shopping. Hate. It.
The only thing I like less than jeans shopping is walking the dog in the rain.
Most women (suffice it to say, I am *not* ‘most’ women) would say bra shopping or swimsuit shopping is the next worst thing to the bubonic plague, but not for me. (Maybe because I skinny dip and I don’t wear bras often enough for it to matter…?) For me, the quest to find a pair of jeans that fit (without squishing me or making me look like a sausage) is next to impossible. For that reason, when my only pair of jeans officially wore out (I had no qualms about wearing jeans with a hole in the crotch, but my husband protested) last spring, I didn’t bother to replace them. “Self,” I said to myself (I often talk to myself in the third person), “Forget about the jeans. Dresses are more comfortable anyway. And if that’s not enough of an argument, I have to words for you: Easy. Access.” 😉 Of course, my Self (being all about accessibility and comfort) agreed.
But that was then.
And this is now.
Now it’s autumn.
Complete with rain and wind and cold and and and… Ugh.
So it’s autumn. And my legs (and various other body parts) get a bit…chilled…if I wear dresses. (You think it’s uncomfortable when the lips on your face get chapped. Mmm-hmmm… Youch!)
After spending several hours over the past few weeks (1) looking and (2) trying on and (3) wishing I had skinny genes so I could fit into skinny jeans and (4) cursing the morons who think women don’t have curves and therefore design clothing for stick figures… I finally (finally!) found one (1) pair of jeans after work today.
I, of course, promptly reported this modern-day miracle to my spouse via text message.
Me: I got JEANS! Yay!
And my husband, who knows I’ve been on The Impossible Quest for weeks and who knows I hate shopping and who knows the only thing I hate more than shopping (specifically: jeans shopping) is walking the dog in the rain, replies…
Him: Glad you found some sexy jeans babe. You will look great walking the dog in them. 🙂
(Insert rapid WTF-style blinking here)
Me: (hoping he’s joking but knowing better) You don’t mean that. You CAN’T mean that. Tell me you don’t mean that. It’s raining!!! Didn’t you walk the dog?
Oh, he’ll be sorry all right! Harrumph!
Oh, well. I can be diabolical in exacting retribution. And I think I’ll take his penance in the form of orgasms. (Orgasms for ME, that is. Not for him.)
Meanwhile, I’m off to get wet…