Monday, August 2, 2010
Jeans. The pant of the masses. The everyday, denim wonder that can be worn in (almost) any situation. Jeans hate me. I can't wear them. The reason you ask? Sad butt - a term coined (I'd like to think affectionately) by my boyfriend. The problem being that I really just don't have any "junk in the trunk" as the kids say. This isn't necessarily a problem for the stick straight ladies out there, but for me, a girl with pro-creation sized hips, it creates quite an issue. Jeans that fit my hips leave a good 3 inches of extra fabric around my backside. Jeans that fit my rump take me straight to Muffin Top Land. Not exactly my idea of a destination vacation. About a month ago I decide to face this problem head on. I went to store after store, trying on every cut, style, size, wash available. I found nothing. Zip. Zilch. Nada. Is it possible that I am the one person on the planet that's physically unable to wear pants? Am I destined to wear skirts forever? Do people tailor their jeans? I need guidance.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
I am good at a lot of things. I make a killer creme brulee. I'm a great nanny. I tell a decent joke. And I can probably drink you under the table. But when it comes to dressing myself I am completely and utterly hopeless. It's not that I don't care, I really, truly do. I go to stores fully intending on getting some nice, reasonable outfits, yet somehow I always end up leaving with a singular t-shirt, usually bearing the face of a super-hero or beer mascot. The few nice clothes I own never seem to get worn with dignity. Usually wrinkled or covered in some combination of spilled Old Style and Camembert. Yesterday I thought I would look quite professional in a button-down safari-esque dress I had purchased from H&M. I probably would have too, if hadn't been running late and had time to maybe iron it and figure out how to remove the patatas bravas out of the skirt. It also certainly doesn't help that I am not at all a morning person and most mornings I dress myself, quite literally, with my eyes shut. I once got halfway through my work day before realizing my shirt was completely transparent. I'm talking so see through you could read my ribcage tattoo. More than a little embarrassing. So now I do believe it's time to make a real effort to dress like a capable adult. Might as well blog about it as I go.