I remember noticing how beautiful the sky was behind the Target sign, and actually thinking to myself, “today will be a successful shopping day.” The automatic doors whooshed open as I entered the store, kid free. I felt good, light on my feet. Being alone will do that to you. I quickly found matching shoes for the girls (for an upcoming wedding), and decided to take a little “me” time to–dare I say–try on a few clothes. I can’t remember the last time I stepped foot in a dressing room. Think…think…think…nope, can’t remember.
As I headed over to hosiery to find some leggings, I passed the clearance bra rack. I backed up. After all, the last one I’d bought had a detachable front. (It was a nursing bra. What were you thinking? Geesh.) I sorted through lace and thick foam cups, only to realize that unless I was Dolly Parton or prepubescent, there were no options for me. Sigh. It’s just as well. We really don’t have the money for me to be buying a new “over-the-shoulder-pebble-holder” anyways. (At least that’s what I told myself.)
I crossed the aisle, into the land of flowy dresses, fresh fall colors and chunky sweaters. My hands skimmed the fronts of soft blouses and my eyes soaked in the trendy lines and beautiful materials. I’ve always been a sucker for Target fashions. Of course, that was back when I was bringing home the bacon. Now, I’m just frying it up in the pan. Nevertheless, I found myself falling in love with an orange belted dress. It would go perfect under the 3/4 sleeve turquoise blazer on the next rack. I pictured myself strutting into the office wearing this ensemble, heels click-clacking on the sidewalk, my hair gently blowing in the breeze…when an invisible hand reached up and slapped me in the face. “Pull yourself together woman!,” my inner voice of reason shouted. “What are you thinking? Not only can you not afford that, but you have nowhere to wear it! Be practical!” Ouch. That stung. But she was right.
What did I need? What did I actually NEED? Jeans. Badly. I have several pair of jeans, but they’re all mom jeans. That’s right. Rib crushers. I even bought a couple of them for $1 a piece at a garage sale. Classy. But you know what? They’re comfortable. And I’m a mom. So who cares? I care. I don’t need to keep up with the latest fashions, but I don’t want to become obsolete, either. With this reasoning in mind, I did something really…stupid. I tried on a pair of skinny jeans.
Why? WHY?! Because the ads on TV say they’re for “every figure.” Because I’ve seen them look flattering not only on skinny chicks, but on curvy ladies as well. I like the idea of skinny jeans. They can be dressy or casual. They go well with ballet flats or tucked into boots. In theory, they’re a great wardrobe staple. And not long ago, I owned a pair that I loved. Of course, that was before baby #2.
I ducked into the fitting room, armed with a pair of Levi’s dENiZEN jeans. They had a nice wash, and a little embellishment on the pockets. For a brief moment, I pictured myself going out with my hubby, dressed in my new jeans, cute top and sassy boots. Maybe I would feel like my old self again. Maybe.
Surprisingly, they zipped without a struggle and were easy to move in. Stretch jeans are the best invention ever. Judging from how they (bear) hugged my thighs, I already knew they would probably be out of the question. So why didn’t I just take them off? Why didn’t I spare myself the horror that came next? I turned around. I dared to look over my shoulder and check out my tush. Why? Why?!?! I’ll never get that sight out of my head….someone else’s butt was attached to my body.
Surely, SURELY that wasn’t my booty. The one that I used to be not-so-ashamed of. The one that used to be fit and fabulous. Now, it’s just flabulous.
I’ll work out! I’ll eat less! I’ll do lunges! I’ll run! I’ll walk! Anything, anything to get rid of that thing! But then, I took the stupid skinny jeans off. Maybe Keira Knightley was right when she said “skinny jeans make us feel bad.” I put on my roomy running shorts, went home, and ate some ribs. Yum.