Today I have to discuss a great tragedy that is occurring. A catastrophe that is happening to women everywhere. An adversity that it is torturing women everywhere. This is near and dear to my heart, so near and dear that I must share it with you today.
A Trial All Women Must Endure
This great trial is that of blue jeans, aka denim, to the woman body.
You see, blue jeans and I have a long history. The texture to me has been so rough and coarse to me that I refused to wear them until I was 18.
Seriously I did.
And it wasn’t until then that I bought larger jeans just so the amount of denim that actually touched my skin was minimal.
Blue jeans and I, since then, have come a long way. I have since become a denim wearer, and moved to a fit that actually does accentuate the body God has given me. My five foot 3 frame, mid-30’s woman that has carried and birthed 4 children.
However, and that is a big HOWEVER, I experienced the true colors of denim this week.
The denim has so offended me that I must explain why.
At the department store we try on countless styles, fits, and colors of denim. Seriously, my last attempt was at 12 pairs.
And then I found it, the one. The one that curved right to my butt, accentuated the hips, and made my monstrous calves that it made me forget I have birthed 4 children and am in my mid-30’s.
I was looking good. I felt it. I knew it. Every angle I turned in that dressing room screamed: THESE ARE IT!!
I purchased them in elation, so excited, elated, and any other “e” word you can think of that I finally have found a pair of denim blue jeans.
Then, as summer progresses it hits. The visitor that we women all have in common once a month. The visitor that makes me want to punch Eve when we get to Heaven.
And then, I put on my blue jeans.
And it is over. I am ready to burn them now.
You see, no longer do they fit perfectly. No longer do I feel like a million bucks.
I feel like sausage packed in too tight of a package.
Terrible I say.
They touched my waist, my hips, my thighs, my knees, mercy they even touched my calves and shins. Gone is the feeling of a hip Mom and present is a woman who is too hot, too bloated, too crampy, and too grumpy to deal with this item of clothing that had to have been created by a man.
It’s a tragedy my friends. A travesty. I don’t even know if it’s the right word, but I can’t help it okay?
These things (I can’t even say the word) are now in the bottom of my stairway.
You want to know why?
The moment I walked back into my house after teaching it was like a bird being let out of a cage. I wanted to run free. So I come into the house (with all 4 children present) and immediately start unbuttoning and unzipping these jeans faster than a man on his wedding night.
Then threw them into the floor.
I know my husband thought I was losing it. It’s not bedtime, it’s 10:30 in the morning and I’m walking around burning up, throwing clothes, and trying to find the loosest fit clothing a person can find without it falling off.
This should not be ladies. It shouldn’t. How can we go from complete “bomb-diggedy hot Mama” to “rolled sausage” in one pair of pants? How can one item of clothing cause us to go completely bi-polar?
Because it’s denim, that’s why.
It’s blue jeans. They are unyielding. Unwavering. Unforgiving. Un-whatever.
That is why.
They have the power to make us swing from one end of the mood spectrum to the other.
So I say NO MORE!! I’ve had enough!
No more to the hot, tight, scratchy, material.
I’m on boycott. You will not see me in these jeans again. At least for a month. Or until my visitor is gone. Well, at least until I know I’m going somewhere where it’s cold and I will be standing the whole time.
I’m mad, spittin mad.
I refuse to put these back on my legs again, to suffer through the agony of being all slim and trim while standing, yet when sitting down all of a sudden it looks like a three-tiered cake underneath my shirt.
This does NOTHING, ABSOLUTELY NOTHING, for women especially when Aunt Flow is visiting.
So, I’m out. I’m tired of these things. I think I’m going to petition the fashion industry to bring back the Gauchos.
Because Hammer pants won’t do on Me.
If only they would. I would end up more like a walking parachute. I can see it now.
So happy boycotting to you. Do you have an item of clothing you are boycotting? Do share, I can’t wait to hear about it.