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.
Got it?
Good.
On with the post…
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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!)
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Anywhoo…
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?
Looooonnnnng pause…
Him: Sorry…
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.)
Suggestions, anyone?
*Smirk*
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Sigh…
Meanwhile, I’m off to get wet…
I meant to tell you earlier–so sorry to hear about your pets. One in one week killed me; I can’t imagine three in one week. I would not feel guilty about the cat. The week we had to put the dog down I told my husband I won’t care nearly as much when the cat goes. I think I even said, “Why couldn’t it have been the cat?”
So where did you find the perfect pair of jeans, may I ask? Everything that hugs my ass perfectly is four inches too big in the waist.
Thanks, we’re just taking it one day at a time where the pets are concerned. I’ve taken the dog off all meds though. I’m pretty adamantly anti-drug, and none of her medications were making a difference, so I’m opting not to poison (yes, even ‘good drugs’ can be poisonous) her system.
The jeans are Vera Wang, Riviera style bootcut. I hear you on the fits-the-hips-but-not-the-waist issue. I’ve also got shapely thighs, so I was happy to find a pair that flattered all three aspects of my figure.
I found them at Kohl’s, which is not typically my kind of store. But I’m glad I gave them a try today. 🙂
There are times when I envy women. Unless it’s a kilt a guy can’t get away with wearing a dress, most guys at least. A purse would be nice too. I wouldn’t have to cram stuff in little pockets where it can dig in at inopportune times. Your comment about the cold reminded me of the second episode of “The Brittas Empire”. The staff uniform is shorts and the one guy is wearing “Tights” under his shorts to keep his legs warm.
Not all men have what it takes to wear shorts, uniform or not. Personally, I’ve always enjoyed ogling the UPS guys. They wear shorts uniforms year-round, and I think having muscular legs is a prerequisite for employment.
Wearing tights under shorts was a very ’80s fashion thing for women to do. It disturbs me that history seems to be repeating itself. Gah! *Shudder*