indi vs. trendy pants
What with this getting-skinny business I have been acquiring and wearing many different kinds of jeans. bleukarma is the main motivator in this, because y'all know I don't know how to dress myself. My brain is still stuck in that thing where it goes "No, dumbass, we're like Jabba the Hutt with legs, we have to find clothes that are all shapeless and baggy." That, and I also learned how to pick my own clothing during the baggy and flanneled years of the nineties, so to me that seems normal.
Bleu, who really ought to be one of those people who tells everyone else what to wear - cos she's awesome at it - is working with me on the "No, it's okay, you can wear that now." And it's going well, for the most part.
The last time we did a thrift run I picked up a pair of jeans that were a little tight, but Bleu made me get them because she's fond of the brand (aeropostal? I think?) and besides, they almost fit. Problem is, almost only counts with horseshoes and hand grenades, so I never wore them. Then, last month, with the headcold and the bronchitis, I dropped another five pounds and decided to give them a go. Bleu and I were planning on heading out to bumble around town anyway, so when she arrived I said that I thought I was ready to go but I needed confirmation on the pants.
She: "They're fine. Stop worrying."
Me: "It's like they're painted on! This can't be right."
She: "That's the style these days! You're in style for once in your life!"
Me: "BUT THAT'S NOT SOMETHING THAT HAPPENS. We need to go to the army-navy store RIGHT NOW and get me some new BDU pants."
She, with resolve face: "We will not."
Then I go to the bathroom, which of course requires depantsing and repantsing. When I come out I am convinced that Bleu's fucking with me.
Me, trying to look at my own ass: "Is my butt supposed to do that?"
She: *busts up laughing*
Me: "It's like a wonder-bra! It's doing this lift and separate thing! I'm not sure I'm okay with this!"
She: *laughs more*
Me: "Maybe if I put a hockey jersey over---"
She: "WE'RE GOING NOW."
Startlingly, I got through the rest of the day without further incident. Unless you count the part where she made me follow her around Wal-Mart carrying a soccer ball and a pair of ruffle-butt underpants, which I dropped on the floor in the direct path of a rather startled man. (The underpants, not the soccer ball.) Or the part where my brain bluescreened at the post office and I told Bleu that she was supposed to kick me when I said something stupid and the lady behind the counter had this look that said: girl, she'd be kicking you ALL THE TIME.
Bleu, who really ought to be one of those people who tells everyone else what to wear - cos she's awesome at it - is working with me on the "No, it's okay, you can wear that now." And it's going well, for the most part.
The last time we did a thrift run I picked up a pair of jeans that were a little tight, but Bleu made me get them because she's fond of the brand (aeropostal? I think?) and besides, they almost fit. Problem is, almost only counts with horseshoes and hand grenades, so I never wore them. Then, last month, with the headcold and the bronchitis, I dropped another five pounds and decided to give them a go. Bleu and I were planning on heading out to bumble around town anyway, so when she arrived I said that I thought I was ready to go but I needed confirmation on the pants.
She: "They're fine. Stop worrying."
Me: "It's like they're painted on! This can't be right."
She: "That's the style these days! You're in style for once in your life!"
Me: "BUT THAT'S NOT SOMETHING THAT HAPPENS. We need to go to the army-navy store RIGHT NOW and get me some new BDU pants."
She, with resolve face: "We will not."
Then I go to the bathroom, which of course requires depantsing and repantsing. When I come out I am convinced that Bleu's fucking with me.
Me, trying to look at my own ass: "Is my butt supposed to do that?"
She: *busts up laughing*
Me: "It's like a wonder-bra! It's doing this lift and separate thing! I'm not sure I'm okay with this!"
She: *laughs more*
Me: "Maybe if I put a hockey jersey over---"
She: "WE'RE GOING NOW."
Startlingly, I got through the rest of the day without further incident. Unless you count the part where she made me follow her around Wal-Mart carrying a soccer ball and a pair of ruffle-butt underpants, which I dropped on the floor in the direct path of a rather startled man. (The underpants, not the soccer ball.) Or the part where my brain bluescreened at the post office and I told Bleu that she was supposed to kick me when I said something stupid and the lady behind the counter had this look that said: girl, she'd be kicking you ALL THE TIME.