Sassy Me: Jean-Shopping
That I am actually not interested in "normal" people. "Normal" equals "boring and fake" to me. So that last answer on my evaluation/quizzie thing below isn't at all true. NOPE.
So I went jeans shopping today because the knees on one of my three pairs decided to run in different directions and it is such a bitch to get my foot down a pant leg when it keeps getting hijacked by the knee hole. Plus I'm -5 on the Grace Scale so dressing in itself is always interesting. Ballet lessons starting in June should help that or I'll end up looking like that damn hippo in a tutu on the cartoons.
Oh..in regards to Hippos....back to the jean shopping. I used to be size 2. I was 2 and tiny. Then I was size 3 after having Skyler and Dylan. After Lucas I hovered at 5. After Cassidy I was 5 also....but now Cassidy is a year old and I'm a 9!!! From size 2 to size 9 in 10 years.
I have some sort of dysmorphic disorder opposite of that which anorexics suffer from. See I assume I'm small. I assume my ass hasn't spread. I see size 5 jeans and I worry (oh geez...how embarrasing) that they will be too big. So I take a pair of size 5 jeans to the dressing room and get one leg in. That's it. Because the other pant leg was collapsed and drawn taut. It had no plans of stretching out. And considering my -5 Grace Factor I wasn't even going to try. It was obvious....THESE JEANS WERE NOT WOMAN ENOUGH FOR MY HIPS AND ASS. So I deemed the size 5 jeans the "evil, wimpy and immature wastes of denim" jeans. That's alright because just in case, I brought a size 7 pair with me. I slip those puppies on and they glide right up my legs until the hips, which requires tugging and coercing. I finally get them past my hips and over my ass and the freakin' waist can't meet. Won't meet. REFUSES TO MOTHER-FUCKING MEET! It's not me, it's the jeans. They are not cooperative. They are the 6 year old in the grocery store whining about candy that they NEVER EVER get because YOU DON'T LOVE THEM. Size 7 jeans are deemed the "I'm Okay, You're A Brat" jeans and left with "evil, wimpy, immature wastes of denim" at the fitting room desk.
I sought out a pair of size 9 jeans that seemed entirely too big and didn't even try them on.
Now, perhaps, you think I'm whining. Perhaps you think size 9 isn't something to complain about. Well let me leave you with this closing thought...size 9 ass/hips IS really that bad with a dress-size 3 torso/chest. Thank you very much. Now you see my problem.
So I went jeans shopping today because the knees on one of my three pairs decided to run in different directions and it is such a bitch to get my foot down a pant leg when it keeps getting hijacked by the knee hole. Plus I'm -5 on the Grace Scale so dressing in itself is always interesting. Ballet lessons starting in June should help that or I'll end up looking like that damn hippo in a tutu on the cartoons.
Oh..in regards to Hippos....back to the jean shopping. I used to be size 2. I was 2 and tiny. Then I was size 3 after having Skyler and Dylan. After Lucas I hovered at 5. After Cassidy I was 5 also....but now Cassidy is a year old and I'm a 9!!! From size 2 to size 9 in 10 years.
I have some sort of dysmorphic disorder opposite of that which anorexics suffer from. See I assume I'm small. I assume my ass hasn't spread. I see size 5 jeans and I worry (oh geez...how embarrasing) that they will be too big. So I take a pair of size 5 jeans to the dressing room and get one leg in. That's it. Because the other pant leg was collapsed and drawn taut. It had no plans of stretching out. And considering my -5 Grace Factor I wasn't even going to try. It was obvious....THESE JEANS WERE NOT WOMAN ENOUGH FOR MY HIPS AND ASS. So I deemed the size 5 jeans the "evil, wimpy and immature wastes of denim" jeans. That's alright because just in case, I brought a size 7 pair with me. I slip those puppies on and they glide right up my legs until the hips, which requires tugging and coercing. I finally get them past my hips and over my ass and the freakin' waist can't meet. Won't meet. REFUSES TO MOTHER-FUCKING MEET! It's not me, it's the jeans. They are not cooperative. They are the 6 year old in the grocery store whining about candy that they NEVER EVER get because YOU DON'T LOVE THEM. Size 7 jeans are deemed the "I'm Okay, You're A Brat" jeans and left with "evil, wimpy, immature wastes of denim" at the fitting room desk.
I sought out a pair of size 9 jeans that seemed entirely too big and didn't even try them on.
Now, perhaps, you think I'm whining. Perhaps you think size 9 isn't something to complain about. Well let me leave you with this closing thought...size 9 ass/hips IS really that bad with a dress-size 3 torso/chest. Thank you very much. Now you see my problem.
Labels: sassy me
posted by Jen Spedowfski-Martin at
3:53 PM
2 Comments:
Hi Jen! Got your comment at my blog and came right over to check your place out. You're very funny.
Thanks for stopping by my blog and commenting.
Now I'm off to take that "geek" test you've got here, and I may have to copycat that from you!
God bless,
LadyBug
Aww...thank you Ladybug! That geek test is a bunch of fun. They have a ton of these quizzes there too.
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