I went to a local store at the mall, today, called Buckle. It’s a dedicated jeans shop (but they also sell shirts and shoes). There were low-rise jeans, mid-rise jeans, skinny, boot cut, flared, eco-friendly (seriously??) jeans, blinged-out jeans; I was experiencing denim-sensory-overload. There were also jeggings.  I laughed my ass off when the salesgirl (whom I shall refer to as Candy since I was too tickled to catch her real name) nonchalantly said the word. I asked her to repeat herself so I could get another internal chuckle, “I’m sorry.  What are these called?”  Although, internally, she was probably thinking, “crazy old feed-bag needs to stick to workout pants”.  I asked her if she felt stupid saying the word.  She said, “No”.  I asked how old she was (look, this wasn’t an interview.  It’s not illegal for me to ask her that question).  “I’ll be 22 this year!” (she was so proud of her age).  Well, that answered my question… all of them.

Jegging [noun] A pair of women’s trousers that is a combination of jeans and leggings.

I told her I didn’t know where to start.  The sizing was all weird… European or something.  I didn’t know what style I should get.  I only knew I really like the blinged-out jeans and would like a pair with as many rhinestones on the ass as possible.  I’m not kidding.  My theory is if I blind a potential viewer with light refracting off my hamhocks, they won’t notice how large and saggy it is.  Maybe I’ll get lucky and the bouncing lasers will burn out their retinas, too, and they’ll never notice my bat wings or the San Andreas fault line in the middle of my forehead.  It’s a crap-shoot, but it’s all I got.

“Well, what size jeans do you normally buy?” she asked me.

I panicked.  Of course, this young girl was petite, pretty, popular – no doubt.  In an instant, I was transported back to high school.  I was insecure.  I had low self esteem.  I was embarrassed of my own body. I tried to lie, but where was that going to get me?  Besides, she was young… not BLIND!  “Four………………………………………………………………………………… teen”.  And then I threw in the disclaimer statement, “BUT I’M 6 FEET TALL!!!”  (yes.  I kinda shouted it.  I admit I was feeling a little defensive)

“Alright,” she didn’t bat an eye, “let’s see what we can find for you.”

Really?  No gasping?  No cupping her hand over her mouth and laughing as she choked out ‘OH MY GAWD!!!’?  Impressive…. until I gasped, cupped my hand over my mouth and choked out, “OH MY GAWD!”.  Smooth, B.  Smooooooooooth.

She asked if I wanted to try on some ‘skinny jeans’.  “Have…. have you looked at me?”

She laughed, “You’re funny.”

“Is that code for something?”

Have I mentioned, yet, that I brought my daughter with me?  She is my worst most truthful critic.  Candy passed 3 pairs of jeans over the door to me.

1st pair:  “What do you think, babe?” / “Suck your belly in, Mama.”  / “I am!” / “Then I think no.”

2nd pair:  “Yes?” / “I like them, Mama.  Sit down.” / “Why?” / “Here.  Sit.  (I sit, perplexed) almost your whole butt pops out when you sit down.  NEXT!”

3rd pair:  Candy asks, “How are you doing?  Any of those work?” / “Am I supposed to be sweating like a whore in church by the time I yank these up over my butt??”  / “Ummm… no” / “Then these are too small.”

She hands me another pair.  I struggle slide into them and cautiously step out for Candy’s critique,  “They look great!”

“Really?  Cuz I am wearing these to a party I’m hosting.  So don’t let me go to my own party looking like a stuffed sausage.”

“What kind of party is it?”

I’m not sure why this mattered.  Are there some parties where it’s good to look like a stuffed sausage?  “Well, it’s certainly not a ‘bring the fugliest girl you can find as your fake date’ frat party, so don’t lie to me!”

At this point, The Daughter chimed in her hard-learned experience, “She’s serious.  Don’t lie to her.”

An hour and 5 lbs of sweat later, we found a pair that fit nicely.  Noe approved, Candy approved, I put my (safe and comfy) workout pants back on, and paid for my new denim skin.

Next stop:  The Disney Store so The Daughter can dress up like Jessie (from Toy Story 3).  Thankfully, her cowgirl hat with the red yarn pony tail fit perfectly!

Post Posting Post:  A friend just commented on this post which reminded me that they give you a card that helps you keep a record of the size, fit, style and brand that you bought.  While checking out, Candy said/wrote down the jeans’ brand which happens to be ‘Big Star’.  For a fleeting moment, I swore she said ‘Big Ass’.