I was a block into the walking start of my run when J decided to continue her walk a little farther and turned to accompany me. We talked of babies (hers and others), the perils of jeans-shopping, and husbands' odd clothing ideas. We crossed into the park, whose perimeter I was going to run, and parted.
5K around the park.
Afterward I entered the neighborhood at my neighbors' street rather than my own, in case anything was going on. AEK was throwing a ball for E's dog with one of those atl-atl ball-throwing thingies that not only increase your range but spare you dog slobber, and she lent me her toilet and then gave me pints of water.
Later in the afternoon Kal came over to fetch boxes for her move and we took pictures of her new house--hooray, a move that brings a friend closer rather than farther.
I really like my neighborhood.
A few weeks ago I looked in This Name Store and That Name Store for jeans. I didn't like the denim washes in either place. I looked in Another Name, eh. In Foley's--a department store whose quality level, I've decided, is more like Sears than Filene's--I found jeans whose denim I liked but which I wouldn't try on because their label was enormous, and other acceptable denim whose tag emphasized that they sat at the waist. I was looking for jeans to replace the at-waist, straight-legged Levi's that I barely wear.
(Last March when Kal and I went to see "The Incredibles," I found a ticket stub in the pocket for the previous October's corn maze. At this October's maze, I found the movie stub.)
Friday night I went to Old Navy, and yep, I'm too old for Old Navy, or too something, because--how excessively picky of me!--I prefer my jeans without holes in them. From there I ventured to Ross and T.J. Maxx. I don't know what A and R stand for after numerical sizes in Tommy Hilfiger jeans--average? regular?--but a 14 in one swam on me and a 10 in the other was a tetch too small and of course there wasn't a 12 of either and what is it with these new jeans that they strangle your pelvis and billow around your legs? And who cares if you have the trendily jeans-molded ass when the overall effect makes you look fatter?
On to Park Meadows, which houses the nearest Nordstrom, because this night's expedition was for the three most harrowing garments: jeans, bra, bathing suit. (Hooray for consumerism: Nordstrom is taking over Lord & Taylor's old space in Cherry Creek, providing me with a nearby department store at a reasonable price point, between Sears and Saks.) Nordstrom shoes made me homesick for Haitch--we last ventured there together looking for her bridal shoes--and I called her. I told her she had to be my link to the real world for jean-selection.
"No tapered legs!" She has known me for a long time, but those tapered legs aren't as long ago as I would readily admit, and I think tapered legs ended before 1996 anyway.
"I know!" I saw that light all by myself. "But what about this exposing the belly thing? and the unflattering softball-sized gap at the back, where my lumbar tattoo isn't and I don't want to get a cold in my kidneys anyway? and the pelvis-constricting factor? and 'muffin-tops,' which body part I own but would not call anything so supposedly appealing (as if) nor ever display? and thong-top-show? and butt-crack-show?" New jeans, sure, but not a new lifestyle. She held my mental hand and talked me through it.
Lord I miss shopping with Haitch. I asked her to justify "shrugs," which are, at least, merely unflattering, rather than uncomfortable and impractical, as the New Jeans are. She said they are allowable only on the pregnant, and they certainly do emphasize the belly in a way only Fabienne of "Pulp Fiction" would find attractive. Once I randomly interjected, "Oh honey, that look's not working for you at all," and I finally see a need in my own life for a camera-phone, because oh, how I wanted to share the visual with her.
My minimal rule about Fat is to cover it with clothing, whether taut or baggy. The flab of the unfit-but-slender is still flab and should be covered. The flesh of those who are fit and slender and possess a healthy fat percentage should not be corseted into bulge. So the quest for jeans continued. I bought a new bra, same make and model as last time, because it supports the flab at the proper midpoint between shoulder and elbow and disallows all bounce. I bought a new swimsuit, same make and model as last time, becuase I know it fits and is comfortable, but not new goggles because I forgot them until I was in the interminable cashier line. But no jeans.
Enough. I headed home and stopped at Target for sheets. Passing through the clothing department on the way to the cashier, on a whim I looked at jeans. Levi's. Huh. New but not overly dyed or flayed or streaky or objectionable denim. I tried a pair. And I liked them!
Should I recite Steve Martin's "Cruel Shoes" bit? Because that's what I realize I sound like. Except not funny.
Low-waisted but not hip-waisted. Not so constrictive as to force bulge up, and low enough not to cut into belly or bladder. I crouched and contorted to check for buttcrackitis or underpantitis. Full-legged but not bell-bottomed. Amply long but not impractically floor-length, and just right with my near-daily Dansko clog. Victory.Levi Signature Mid-Rise Boot-Cut Jeans, in Ocean; where "Signature" means "line invented for Target and even lower-end stores."
At home, I took a seam-ripper to the label while RDC and I watched Haitch's latest recommendation, "You and Me and Everyone We Know." I close letters with "oxo" instead of "xox" because I prefer hugs to kisses and the shape is more rotund, more like me; but in future I think I will sign ))><(( .
Today I wore the jeans to Kal and Neal's new house, of which RDC and I took digital pictures for the gratification of the distant. And there I am, in new jeans, with a tank top under my sweater to spare the world (or just neighborhood) sight of my pasty excess and for weekend-level breastal restraint, and y'know, excess is not the less repellent for being covered. So much for following even my own minimal rule. Jeans to (not above) the waist would cover, if not disguise, that bulge more acceptably.
The option of ridding myself of that belly, of course, well, let's stay in the realm of possibility.