Since it's the beginning of the new semester, and I am sick, I decide I ought to buy a new pair of jeans. I wear jeans once a week to work, but also on non-teaching days when I have to go in for meetings, office hours and general bullshit.
I don't want to wear the jeans I have because they fall into two categories: "work jeans" and "going out on da town so look at my ass" jeans. My work jeans have holes in them either in the butt, knees or both and they're pretty well falling apart. A few pairs are older than my current students. I use them for yard work and when I feel especially fat. My hooker jeans are just too tight, especially since I went all crazy on the sugar cookies this Christmas. On the other hand, Lucky Brand jeans make my butt look great. This is advantageous for clubbing (which I never do) but not great for professional attire. I need jeans that say "please don't look at me, I'm old enough to be your mom-like relative."
Even though I'm sick and have an upper respiratory infection, maybe turning into bronchitis, maybe turning into pneumonia, maybe even bubonic plague, I go shopping. I know, I hate it when I'm healthy as a horse (which is over 95% of the time, thanks), browsing through some retail dream heaven and am subjected to a cougher who wipes their nose on the sleeve of the shirt I was thinking of trying on. It's disgusting to think about, the germs and assorted body fluids of the walking dead, zombies, goons and Walmart shoppers. Fuck it; why shouldn't I donate back to the yuck pool? Maybe my germs will help someone else become more disease resistant. Or kill them. Whatever. Getting sick is just a new excuse to skip work and watch old episodes of "Jersey Shore" anyway. So in a way, I'm pretty sure I'm helping.
I despise the mall with a blue hatred; the people everywhere, the perfume and body store that automatically induces a headache and asthma attack when I walk by, the girl selling hair straighteners chasing potential clients around with a 450 degree flat iron and the giant cookie store that screams my name even though nobody else can hear it- I save these treasures for Christmas shopping and keep my back to the walls. Even my annual pilgrimage is minimal as I am able to either finagle friends with mad pottery skills to help me out or order online. So today I am relegated to the strip malls with specialty shops.
I get a phone call from "Joe" (this is remembered and may actually be part of my delirium since I have a fever):
Joe: Whatcha doing?
Me: Shopping. I hate it.
Joe: Whatcha shopping for?
Me: Jeans for work.
Joe: Don't you own like a million pairs of jeans?
Me: Why do you know that? And yes, but they're too cute.
Joe: Oh, you need "Mom Jeans". Go get a pair of Lee Easy Riders.
Now why would a guy know that and where the hell do I get a pair of Easy Riders? Do they come with biker boots? Will I get into a soccer mom gang if I wear them? It's all so vague and somewhat unsettling. I don't want to join a gang or get shot so I find a pair of Hydraulic jeans two sizes too big and try them on.
I have the same problem with jeans as everyone else on the plant. When something fits my butt, the waist is way too large. I have 39-40" hips but only a 29" waist. It's a problem. Low rise jeans are too low to wear most of the blouses I wear for work. The Hydraulic jeans fit loosely around my hips and I have enough material left over from the waistband to sew a sail. I try on a few other pairs and get frustrated, vowing not to eat until I'm a size 4. But I'm hungry and tired so I decide on the Hydraulics and get the hell out of there. Jersey Shore is going to start any minute and I need to keep up with the std transfer system they have going. It's a CDC experimental lab dream.
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