It happened in a Macy’s fitting room

Something happened. Something bad. It was a few weeks ago, but I couldn’t write about it right away. The terror was too fresh, too real. But now that it’s all relegated to the occasional ‘Nam-esque flashbacks and night terrors, I think I’m ready to relive it. After all, writing is a good form of therapy, right?

So, here it is.

Ready?

You guys? I … I tried …

Dammit, I can’t do this. (Yes you can. Be strong. You never know when your story might help someone else.)

Ugh, fine.

I tried on Mom jeans.

It started innocently enough. I was shopping for some new jeans — something straight, or maybe even skinny, but definitely not with a flare. Between the cruise earlier in December and the holidays, I wasn’t really wanting to shop in the Junior sections. You see, when you’re a size 10 or 12 in Regular People clothes, that equates to different kinds of numbers in the Junior section, and I wasn’t emotionally prepared to try on a size 19 or something … and not be able to button it. And so, to the Grown Up Ladies section I went.

I was optimistic, and with good reason. Macy’s and I tend to get along very, very well. I have several beautiful dresses from the Grown Up Ladies section that I got on wicked sale and couldn’t be more pleased with. And it’s a department store, for god’s sake. They should have a little of everything, right? Including hip but not Juniors-sized pants.

I saw the denim section and approached without hesitation. Hanging on the wall there were numerous styles, and they were even displayed in such a way that I could tell what was happening at the bottom. Flare, bootcut, bootcut, “slimming” bootcut, and, there they were. Straight. And not a million dollars, which was my other issue. The wash looked good, the price was right, and they appeared to be slim enough to tuck into my new boots. Into the dressing room I went.

It’s funny how you often receive NO WARNING that your life is about to change.

I pulled them on, pleased with the softness of the denim. I may have even congratulated myself a bit for navigating away from the elastic waist jeggings and trouser jeans with rhinestone-studded back pockets. Hahaha, I’m so smart, I thought.

But then it happened. I buttoned them, and my heart began to race. As I zipped them, I felt like I was in a Guy Ritchie movie, with everything slowing waaaaay down so that I could hear and see everything. I heard the laughter of a mother and daughter shopping for a Christmas dress two doors down, and a subtle grunt from another woman trying on a bandage dress that probably should have been a size larger. I could see the particles of dust falling from the fluorescent lights above me.

And then, I looked in the mirror. And there they were.

Mom jeans.

It was awful. I couldn’t look away. The waistband easily came up to my bellybutton, and the back — oh, the back! Let’s just say that I’ll never use the term “long-ass” (as in,  “Man, that is a long-ass drive!) without thinking of how my butt appeared to be the height of an encyclopedia in those jeans. *shudder*

As I unzipped and stepped out of the high-waisted catastrophe, my terror began to turn to confusion, with a touch of rage. How could this happen to me? Why weren’t they clearly marked? This isn’t right!

I speedwalked out of the dressing room, grabbing Jared by the arm and dragging him away. “Take me someplace stylish, right now,” I begged. And, as he looked into my eyes, he understood the trauma I had gone through. Well, after I explained what the innocent looking pants I’d taken into the dressing room did to me, he understood, at least. And so, arm in arm, we walked directly to Banana Republic and never looked back.

 

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  1. Fitz’s avatar

    You should have jumped on a stage and rocked out like Jessica Simpson.

    Reply

  2. Kat’s avatar

    lol, so does fitting above the belly button qualify as mom jeans? As a gal in the 18+ category and with some sense of shame, all my jeans come up to there because if the waist goes below…when you have curves, and walk, that back waist is going to sliiiiide down. Either that or if it sits below your pillsbury button, there is the muffin top issue. Mom jeans to me meant stone washed with elastic bunched waist bands and overly relaxed through the hips.

    Reply

    1. kgseymour’s avatar

      Might depend on where your bellybutton is in relation to your hips — on me, for the rise to be above my navel, we are looking at a LOT of fabric. I looked like the woman in that commercial where all of a sudden there’s a freaking cow in the living room yelling, “Mom jeans!” and talking about her caboose.

      Reply

  3. Wendi’s avatar

    Mom jeans should come with a signed waiver. Hilarious.

    Reply

  4. Kyle’s avatar

    Mom jeans can be kind of hot sometimes :)

    Reply

  5. Jamie Walker’s avatar

    Omg – that is a horrible experience! But at least you didn’t buy them or anything…;)

    Reply

  6. Frank’s avatar

    It must be a gal thang?! Im still not sure what happened, and its probablly better that way! You ladies have soooo many challenges w/ur clothes and jeans imparticular. Kudos to Jared!!! He is either a very smart man or very well trained!!! LOL
    Wayto go dude!

    Reply

  7. Poodle’s avatar

    The Gap. Go to The Gap. The jeans are nice and not crazy-priced. You will be safe there.

    Reply

  8. Angella’s avatar

    I will never use “long-ass” the same again…

    xoxo

    Reply

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