Let’s retrace my steps: Went to Marshalls to look for cheap jeans that cover my rear when I sit and don’t highlight my mini-gut when worn with tight shirts. Drug seven pairs into dressing room. Tried on five (couldn’t get my thighs into two.) Left store with dark-washed jeans complete with gut-hiding front panel, plenty of hip room, elongated zipper and ample backside coverage in a size 1 up from normal.
Yup, case confirmed. I bought Mom Jeans. How did it come to this?
Look, there is nothing wrong with Mom Jeans, if you have squeezed at least one spawn out of your hoo haw. But I have squeezed nothing out. Have never eaten for two. Have not experienced the hormonal landslide of pregnancy to enhance my butt, widen my hips or unshape my thighs. I assume these things will happen someday and look forward to a Quirky Jr. and a closet full of Mom Jeans as a result, but these things have not happened thanks to the little pill in the purple case that I swallow with a swig of cabernet each evening.
So I have no excuse for the size 6 Calvin Kleins with a “traditional waist” that sit in the passenger seat of my car like some sort of 30-something -with-no-kids-about-to-get-married-it’s-the-time-of-my-life kryptonite.
To be clear: I’m pretty sure I’m being hard on myself. I’m quite sure that these jeans in no way, shape, or form mean that I’m a candidate for the fat lady gig at the circus. But come ON. “Traditional waist?” Really?
And they fit really well.
Not only can I bend over and pick something up without a show of my underwear (probably time for a little shopping spree on those fellas too), I can sit down. And everything is covered.
Also. They cover my belly. Most of the fat parts of it? Inside the jeans. Not over the edges muffin top.
To make matters worse, there is plenty of room for my thighs and they are stretchy.
After I stopped rocking back in forth in the dressing room, banging my head into the door, I decided to come out for a second look.
But, what can I say? They fit. They feel good. And they are cheap.
I bought them.
And will be wearing them often.
And going to the gym more often. And eating better.
Because, I’d really rather wear my old jeans, please and thank you. But these will work for the time being.
And if, by chance, at age 32, I can’t get back into my size 27 skinny jeans by IT, then so be it.
Maybe Quirky Jr. will just have to make an appearance in a few years to help me justify the jeans.