It all starts so well…as it always does.
I look in my wardrobes and wonder what will I wear.
You’re there like an over enthusiastic cheerleader…shouting ‘pick me, pick me’.
Ooooh, my black skinny jeans…perfect.
Our previous fights forgotten, you are like an old friend. You fit so perfectly, so snug and so flattering, like a jeans version of Spanks, but much friendlier.
‘Wow…I look so good in these’ I think, so nice with that over sized top ( read…’hides a multitude’ top).
Three hours in you are losing your appeal, the loops are groaning under the pressure of being hoisted up, I’m looking at elderly men and thinking braces are pretty good option and bending over requires a slick move of holding onto your jeans during the manoeuvre or risk a considerable ‘builders smile’!
Four hours in and baling twine is looking like a good option.
Maybe I need a smaller size I think, but that would be the jeans equivilant of surgical stockings…not a good looks and I’d be in danger of no longer having feeling in my feet.
What about a looser pair…it would be like a jeans version of Nora Batty…jeans wrinkling unattractivly at my ankles…somewhat worse than the braces look!
Come evening time and I’m a bag of crankiness…GET THESE OFF ME.
You are peeled, inelegantly from me, you tortuous piece of clothing.
For sure, the hint is in the name, if you are not ‘life threateningly’ skinny then these jeans are not your friend.
Oh joggies, oh leggings…you are soooooo welcome, thank you for being so comfortable!!!
I fling you in the laundry basket…and hope I never see you again.
Come back bootcut jeans…all is forgiven
Until next time…