Day 122

Jeans are as much an American Staple as apple pie or mashed potatoes. You would be hard pressed to find someone who doesn't own a pair. When we were recently in South Carolina, I learned that the dye used to make "blue" jeans- indigo- was one of the three major crops that made some of the richest men in our country. Back then it was used more for uniforms, but it is still a hot commodity today.

Styles have come and gone of course. Bell-bottoms, pegged jeans, and skinny jeans, etc. Everyone has their favorite brand- the ones that fit them just right. There are the mega producers such as Levi and Wrangler, but just about every store has their own brand now, hoping to catch a piece of the American Pie.

My personal favorite is GAP. They are one of the few jeans that fit my unusually shaped body. Plus, the style that I like- "Long and Lean"- just sounds sexy. And who can deny that a good jean fit can feel as sexy as a pair of high heels, right?  Before finding this particular style of jean, what used to sometimes be weeks of frustrated shopping and trying on countless pairs of jeans has now turned into the ability to pick up a pair of jeans without having to even enter the dressing room.

The only down side is that jeans from the GAP are not financially fiscal. So, I treat myself every year to a pair from the Outlet on Black Friday. This past November, I picked a lighter blue than my usual dark blue, and I was happy to bypass the line that snaked throughout the store to try stuff on.

Unfortunately, when I got home- the jeans didn't fit. Like, no-way-in-hell-is that-button-getting-through-that-buttonhole kind of didn't fit. How frustrating. I knew the colder weather had undoubtedly placed a few pounds back on the scale, but jeez that's such a deflating feeling. I debated taking them back, but instead decided to do what many women have done before- hang them back up in my closet, vowing that I would be able to wear them one day.

And there they have hung since that fateful November day, waiting patiently for me to have the guts to try them on again. Today, five months later, I swallowed my anxiety and took them off the hanger. Closing my eyes and quietly chanting, "Please go over my ass. Please go over my ass", I slid them on. To my surprise and relief, not only did my ass fit inside, but that intimidating button actually made it into the buttonhole.

Ha! I gleefully did a little happy-dance as I triumphantly ripped off the sale tags I had left on for five months. That makes it official, of course- once the tags come off, there's no going back.

So, today's pic celebrates jeans, an American tradition, and that triumphant feeling when a piece of clothing that at one time didn't fit makes it over your ass.