I am in mourning. My favorite jeans are near the end. They have been with me for years. They didn’t even give out when I crammed my post baby ass inside.
It is difficult to find a pair of jeans that are comfortable and flattering. I think I would rather watch Keeping Up With the Kardashians than shop for jeans. (and that is hell) Nowadays young girls wear pants that barely cover their va-jay-jays. I can’t do low-rise. A girl like myself can’t wear skinny jeans either. I tried on a pair at the Gap and thought I would spend the rest of my life in that dressing room. I couldn’t get the jeans off my cankles. I was standing in front of the mirror, sweating with a teenager asking, “Do you like, need another size ma’am?” I needed the jaws of life. They eventually came loose.
Can a 37-year-old mother of three wear jeans torn at the knee? What if I curl my hair and walk around singing “Pour some sugar on me?”