Archives for October 2008

Who Are All These Buttless Women?

The other day, The Modern Gal talked about avoiding the new Gap jeans because they have pocket flaps and she has some junk in her trunk she doesn’t feel like accentuating. My immediate thought was, “damn, guess I can’t get new jeans at Gap anytime soon,” because my trunk is also not without some junk.

Even when I used to run seven miles a day and was in the absolute best shape of my life (something I’m working to get back to/surpass), my derriere was the most pronounced feature of my figure, and I had a horrible time finding jeans. And I don’t think my shape is unusual. I think I am the prime example of average. So why isn’t anyone making clothes for me?

Yesterday, after trying on 16 pairs of jeans, (a task I equate to torture), I came up with nothing. I want a pair of classy, grown-up jeans, to pair with a crisp shirt or a chunky sweater, so I can shake my overgrown skateboard-chic style and dress more age appropriately, but in order to find a pair that doesn’t gap at the waist and squeeze my rear up to my hips, I end up with super super low rise jeans that don’t have any sort of waist what-so-ever, and the second they stretch, they start heading south. There’s nothing classy about perpetual plumbers butt. There’s also nothing nice about jeans with pockets that are so far apart it looks like my butt is headed in two very different directions at the same time.

And I’m a size 8/9. If trying on jeans is making me feel awful, what about women who wear a 12 or 14 or 16 or 18? They can’t be having an easy time of it either. We don’t all come in one size! Don’t we all deserve the chance to feel good about ourselves and look good in our clothes? Haven’t we gotten past the point where looking like a stick figure is our ideal? I just want to be healthy and fit. Why isn’t that well accommodated in the clothing industry?

When I came out of the dressing room to return my stack of ill-fitting jeans to the rack, I surveyed the store. With the exception of one woman who looked like a super model and didn’t have a butt, hips, thighs, boobs, or anything that jiggled anywhere, every other women in the store had something in stock in the trunk department. So why are clothing companies making jeans for the buttless women, and leaving the rest of us to walk around with plumbers butt, or massive gaps at the waist band, or jeans that push body parts to places they don’t belong? If I didn’t get so horribly frustrated every time I try on clothes, I might actually buy some. Accommodating butts seems like good business sense to me.

Suggestions on where to shop are very very very welcome.

100 Things – 36-45

36. I need the shirts in my closet to be lined up in color order. I would rather leave my clothes crumpled in the laundry basket than put them away wrong. J’s side of the closet makes me cringe.

37. I’m messy. I can clean the house from top to bottom and have it looking showroom perfect, but an hour later, messes start exploding around me again.

38. I have a very low tolerance for jobs that will be quickly undone, like making the bed, doing the dishes, laundry, vacuuming, etc.

39. I have a houseplant named Slartibartfast. He’s a potted palm, and I’ve managed to keep him alive for over a year now, which is a record for me. I got a second one last weekend and named him Martibartfast.

40. I tend to name things that really don’t need names. I always thought I’d outgrow the need to name things, but I haven’t.

41. I frequently forget the names of things I’ve named and can only remember that they did have a name at one point.

42. I once bowled an eleven.

43. I was a very good inline skater until I slipped on wet leaves on a steep hill and broke my tailbone. It was the first time I ever fell while inline skating. When I recovered and tried to skate again, I got the yips and fell in front of a car stopping at a stop sign. The way the timing of it worked out, the elderly woman in the passenger seat thought her husband had hit me (even though I was a few feet away from the bumper) and she started screaming and swatting at him with her purse like a character out of a movie. I scraped my shoulder badly, but got up immediately to show them I was fine so she’d stop hitting him. I don’t skate anymore. I miss it. It was my sport. I haven’t found any other form of exercise I enjoy as much, but I really can’t afford to break my tailbone again.

44. I’m a good cook when I want to be.

45. I was on the campus soap opera in college. Yes, there’s a tape. No, you can’t see it.

How hard is it to put on pants?

On Saturday, my laptop cord broke. It was well past the point of being successfully rigged with electrical tape, so J and I went to the Apple Store to get a new one.

On the way into the mall, we saw a girl wearing pajama pants and a really ratty sweatshirt. Her hair was gathered on top of her head in a scrunchy, and she looked like she’d either just gotten out of bed, or carefully crafted her look so it would look like she’d just gotten out of bed and was even adorable when she wasn’t trying.

“How hard is it to put on real pants?” I whispered to J, because I was feeling crabby and judgmental.

Apparently, it’s very hard, because yesterday, I spent the entire day wearing my pajama pants. I picked all the peppers from my garden, and roasted them on the grill so I could marinate and freeze them. I told myself that I’d just start the grill and then go put on pants, but then I thought that my pajama pants already smelled like grill smoke, and my jeans didn’t, so why should I bother getting dressed?

So, I spent the entire afternoon in the backyard wearing plaid flannel pajama pants, puffy slippers, and a ratty sweatshirt, with my hair in a messy, stubby ponytail. I wasn’t trying, but I wasn’t adorable either. I’m sure my immediate neighbors saw me, but since I regularly take the dog outside in my writing sweater, I figure there’s no point in putting on airs with them.

Also, on Friday, I picked the last of the viable tomatoes and pulled every freaking tomato plant out of the ground. It was so damn satisfying.

Today, I am wearing pants.