CLINTON —
I’ve come to the conclusion that shopping for the perfect pair of blue jeans takes a lot of skill, a lot of time and even more patience than I think I was born with.
Over the weekend, I spent more time in dressing rooms slipping on and off pairs of denim than I did as a teenager trying on prom dresses. Let me tell you, trying on prom dresses was a cinch compared to jeans.
On Saturday, I was on a mission to purchase a new pair of jeans to replace a pair, which I probably had for a decade. When I like something, I like it for a really, really long time. I wore those jeans until they were literally ripping at the seams.
Since a good fit is hard to come by, I treasured those jeans like a family heirloom. I think I might have even teared up a little bit when they hit the bottom of the burning barrel and went up in flames.
When I entered the first store, I was confronted, and a little overwhelmed, by an entire wall full of blue jeans. A friendly and very nice girl approached me to see if I needed some assistance. I said, “Sure. I have a hard time finding jeans that fit. So, if you could help me find a pair, that would be great.” The girl smiled, sent me into a dressing room and said she would be back shortly.
After a few minutes, she returned with a pile and I was now on my own. So, it was just me, the scary mirror and some whacky looking blue jeans that I hoped I could pull up past my knees.
As I stepped into the first pair, I almost wished I had a bottle of cooking oil to help get them on. They were skin tight. As I slowly pulled them up, I was just hoping and praying that I would be able to get them back off. I never thought my thighs looked that big until then. It looked as if I had two of my hens stuffed in those jeans.
As I observed the damage in the mirror, this pair of black, skinny jeans looked like two skunks had exploded on the front of them. It literally looked like I was wearing two skunk tails on the front of these pants or someone just threw a bottle of bleach on me.
The salesgirl came back and asked me how I was doing. I slowly opened up the dressing room door and said, “Well…” She smiled and said, “They look good on you.” My rebuttal was, “I just don’t feel comfortable in these. They’re too tight.”
She encouraged me to keep trying, so I did. As I was trying on the next pair, I discovered I couldn’t get them past my hips. So, that wasn’t going to work no matter how much cooking oil I had in my purse. The other jeans, which continued to stare back at me on the bench, made chills go up my spine. I didn’t want to try on anymore.
In a last ditch effort to help me, the girl returned to see if I had any success — just one lonely pair of jeans that fit. I smiled and said, to this girl who probably was young enough to be my daughter, the sad news. “You did a great job helping me today; but unfortunately, I think I’m too old to be wearing jeans like this.”
I have a feeling she wasn’t prepared for that statement since she laughed a little nervously clutching all the blue jeans that didn’t fit my frame.
After trying on about 15 pairs of jeans over the course of the weekend, I did eventually find a pair that fit. I was thrilled. It almost equaled the joy I experience every day when I collect eggs out in the coop.
This experience taught me a couple things. One, that I have to stay the same size for awhile so I don’t have to go jean shopping again for a couple of years.
Two, that my body type is changing. My body is not shaped like it was in my 20s and I just can’t shop in certain sections of a store anymore.
And three, that no matter how much I love animals and Pepe le pew, I don’t want to look like I have two skunks strapped to my legs while I’m walking down the street.
Angie Bicker has been employed with the Clinton Herald since 2001. She can be reached at angiebicker@clintonherald.com.
Opinion
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Angie Bicker
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September 19, 2012
BICKER: Finding the perfect fit
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