Buying jeans

It had to happen.

I had three pairs of jeans, but one pair had a hole ripped in the bum, and one was so old there was no more bum. And the third was a pair of skinny jeans I bought a couple of years ago just to be done buying jeans that made me look lumpy in all the wrong places.

I decided to be strategic this time.

Rather than standing in the dressing room trying variations on low-rise, mid-rise, mommy-rise, ripped thighs, curvy thighs, fat thighs, boot cut, skinny cut, short cut, dark black, dark blue, dark gray, faded, acid washed, distressed, muffin top, high pockets, girl pockets, no pockets....

This time I would instead try on all the jeans already at home and decide which ones were for me.

First I tried on my own jeans, and they were Too Small.

Then I tried on Tim's jeans. And they were Too Big.

So then I snuck into Jonathan's room and stole a pair of his jeans out of his drawer. And they were Just Right.

I used to be jealous of friends who could share clothes with their daughter. But not anymore. Who needs a daughter for that? And it turns out that boy jeans have deep pockets that can even hold a phone without it riding up your butt and falling into the toilet when you forget to take it out before unzipping in the public restroom. Plus, I knew exactly where I had bought those jeans for him.

So Saturday morning, early, I took the tram up to the city and pulled five pairs of jeans off the shelf on the men's floor, stood in line at the dressing room, ignored all the funny looks by the other teenage boys in line for said dressing room, pretended not to see the raised eyebrows of those dressing room attendants, and found, out of the five, two perfect pairs of jeans. Black and dark gray. Skinny but not lumpy. With pockets.

Hoping this means I can go another decade without buying jeans again.