There’s nothing that reminds you of your fatness like jean shopping.

Seriously.

I would HANDS DOWN rather go swimsuit shopping instead of jean shopping. I mean, at least when you’re buying a swim suit you know what to expect. You know you’re going to leave the store in a pissed off mood because the suit you picked out single handedly made you gain 20 pounds in one split instant. ( I love blaming stuff on clothes)

You know that your entire body will be exposed in that horrifying fluorescent light that shows every single body blemish ever. “Heeeey! I didn’t know I had a scar there!” or “Hmm, that freckle looks like Rudy Giuliani!”

You go into the situation knowing that.

Jean shopping, however, is a different story. You’re fully covered! Nothing is exposed (well, unless you try on the ultra low rise jeans and you’ve got not only the muffin top thing going on, but ALSO the half moon as well. We’ll get to that later though), yet you still leave in a terrible mood.

Explain to me how something that covers your entire body can make you so angry!?!

I hate jeans shopping.

I would rather be just about anywhere than in a dressing room trying on 40 pairs of jeans praying that maybe, just maybe one will fit- or that jeans will become extinct. I pray that too sometimes.

I become slightly holier during jean shopping. You know that whole pray without ceasing verse? Yep, I’m all over that one.

You see, jeans provide you with no “give.” You are what you are in a pair of jeans. No stretching, no “easing into them.” What they look like in the store is how they’re going to be forever, or even worse after the dryer shrinks them. Sure, eventually they start to fit a little looser- but that assumes you have the time to do 25 squats and 2 sets of 12 lunges every time you wear them! Not to mention the fact that it’s totally unacceptable to do these forms of exercise in a dressing room. Trust me, I’ve tried.

You are what you are in a pair of jeans.

Not only that, but my body is all weird. Apparently I’ve unknowingly agreed to house a school of children in various areas of my body-mostly below the waist region- and this often causes complications with trying on jeans.

Trying on anything, really.

Stuff fits in the legs and then

breathe in!

squeeze!

hop!

PRAY!

That’s what happens as I approach my hip region. Ladies, I have a normal body below the knees and above the waist, but somehow in between those two areas I think God accidentally paired me with someone that was meant to be larger. So- I’m convinced there’s a rather large lady walking around the world somewhere that has a tiny butt and cute little round hips, totally confused about her odd proportioning too. Have you seen her??

So, in short, my jeans get stuck around my hips and I have to really concentrate to get them to “slide” on. This often requires large amounts of sweat, prayer, and Shea butter. Let’s also not forget The Pants Dance. This dance is a must in all jean outings. Seriously? You need to go read that post and come back here. It really sums up what it’s like to to try on jeans. I totally made myself laugh too. I’m such a nerd.

Hmm, where would I rather be than jean shopping you might ask?

*The Gynecologist- check

* Cardio Boot Camp- check

*At a John Wayne Movie Marathon- check

That’s right, I’d rather be at all of those places compared to looking for the perfect pair of jeans.

So, because of my immense hatred for jeans shopping, I basically have to be dragged to the store, and since Will isn’t a big shopper I’m never really in a MUST BUY JEANS situation.

Until this past weekend.

Will actually forced me to go jean shopping (brave man). I don’t think he realized what a big scary grumpy mess I turn into, or else he would have brought in serious back-up.

Lucky Brand was having a buy one get one pair free sale at one of the malls here. I gotta admit- that’s a pretty good deal. That’s the only brand of jeans Will has worn since I’ve known him, so he wanted to go ahead and take advantage of the sale.

For some reason he convinced me to do the same.

I think we must have had this conversation in between sleep and consciousness, because that’s the only way I would have agreed.

Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve been jean shopping people!?

AGES.

YEARS.

LITERALLY!

The last pair of jeans I bought was back in the late spring of 2005, right before coming to Kuwait. Will and I bought a pair from The Buckle from my Stillwater buddy Megan (Hi Megan! I’m glad you sold me those jeans. They’re the only freaking pair I wear ALMOST THREE YEARS LATER. Hello patheticness! Don’t disown me okay?).

I got a pair of Big Star jeans. Do they even make those anymore?

It took me a good 30 minutes to get over the “big” star name. What- were they calling me fat? Why BIG star? How come not little star or shiny star? Was Big Star the brand the chubby girls had to buy? Were there Skinny Star and Medium Star jeans too?

After that breakdown, I finally bought the freaking things- and have worn them ever since.

I bought a pair from NY & Co. last year but I totally don’t count them because:

1. They were on sale and I just grabbed them and barely tried them on- which does NOT count as jean shopping.
2. I never wear them because they were on sale and I just grabbed them and barely tried them on- and they’re huge.

So- 2005 Big Star Jeans it is. Besides, I hardly wear jeans anyway. I can’t wear them at work and it’s a THOUSAND AND FOUR freaking degrees here in the summer, so jeans are the last thing I want to wear 7 months out of the year.

Riiight, Brittny. Keep telling yourself that.

So, that’s my jean history.

Jeans are one of those crucial items in a wardrobe. They’re a big commitment. They are a major part of the “collection,“ which is yet another reason I’ve stuck with the trusty 2005 pair for so long. Plus, why would I willingly torture myself by jean shopping? I’ve already established how much I hate it.

Saturday Will and I broke my 2 year non-shopping jean streak and went to Lucky for their sale.

First of all- what in the freaking CRAP was I thinking?

We get there and the store is empty. That means we’re the only two people in proximity that might spend money- which means the sales people are practically making out with you from the instant your first foot hits the entrance.

Sales people. That’s another post for another day.

It’s like they’re starving bloodhounds and they’ve just been let loose in a meat locker.

I even think there was some leg humping too.

Anyway- enough with the starving dog analogy- you get the point, they were all over us.

I start small- just looking at the jeans Will is interested in. We discuss colors, styles, etc. Will isn’t a big shopper- he’s an “in and out” kind of guy that finds exactly what he wants and doesn’t dilly-dally. He’s quickly off to try on his jeans.

Meaning I was alone.

In a store full of hungry, blood thirsty, commission sucking sales people.

All Alone.

Alone people!

I was forced to look around.

It didn’t take long before our hungry salesman was by my side looking at my butt and sizing me up to what kind of jeans he thought I might be able to force my sausage legs into.

Just a sidenote for all you lovely sales people out there- PLEASE make me a promise, okay? When someone tells you their size

DON’T YELL IT ACROSS THE STORE TO SOMEONE ELSE as you proceed to find what you’re looking for.

My gosh! Didn’t they learn anything in their Lucky Brand Store Orientation??

So, once they found about 12 different styles of jeans in my size- and now that everyone knew my body’s dimensions, it was time for the try-on.

We’ve already established The Pants Dance, but even that couldn’t help me a few times- and the jeans were supposedly my size.

Can I please cry!?

About 2 pairs into the try-on the salesman came by my door, “How are those working out for you?”

Between a grunt and a quick exhale I muster a, “Fine,” but what I really wanted to say was, “They’re not!! They’re NOT working thank you very much!”

I mean, seriously, do they even make jeans that cover your butt anymore? No, seriously, I’m asking! Even the “normal rise” was risky business. So, not only did I have to squeeze into every pair of jeans I tried, but then I had to:

1. Make sure I could still breathe.
2. Check my vitals.
3. Make sure there wasn’t a full moon blinding everyone in sight.
4. Make sure there was no muffin top spillage.

I failed every single test.

Can’t a girl get a freaking pair of jeans that passes these four checks! GAH! Heck! I’d take 2 out of 4!

One pair would fit fine in the hips but be huge at the waist, another would barely make it past my knees, and still another would be almost perfect but too short.

I came back out to see if there was anything else I could try. I found another few pairs and hoped for the best.

I got in the dressing room and gave myself a pep talk, “Okay, Brittny. This is it. Find two pairs of jeans and you’ll never have to go jeans shopping again. Ever. Okay, I’m lying- but I promise you won’t have to for at least another two years. I don’t care what you do- just find a decent pair of jeans!”

So I did just that.

I’m almost certain that I broke every rule of Jean Shopping Fashion, but I didn’t care. I wanted to find a couple pairs of jeans I could live with, learn to like them, and be done with the whole thing without sweating buckets.

So, I’m the proud (?) owner of two new pairs of jeans I can tolerate simply so I never have to jean shop again. I left the store feeling incredibly chunky and mad at Levi Strauss. Wasn’t he the guy that got this whole jean thing started?

I don’t even remember what the things look like on me (I only tried them on twice in the store and immediately took them to the closet when we got home), so I’m sure I’ll go through this whole bad attitude, Pants Dance fiasco all over again when I finally go to wear them.

(blocking that last sentence from my mind. horrified to think of trying those stupid jeans on again)

There you have it.

Jeans.

The mocker of all women.