I was thinking about this today, as I returned to my hunt for a perfect pair of jeans. It's something that I engage in periodically,
The perfect pair of jeans would be loose enough through the seat and thigh that I could sit down easily, but tight enough in the waist that when I did, I wouldn't have to worry about what was showing from behind. It would be a dark color, to minimize my lower half. It would be boot-cut, to balance my hips, and sit at my natural waist to cover my mommy-tummy.
Is that so difficult?
(True story: I was nursing Monkey3 the other day, when Monkey2 walked in and started poking at my stomach. "Mama, are you growing another baby?" she asked. "No, why do you ask?" I replied, because I'm a sucker for punishment. "Because," she poked me again, "just look at this!" Then I wrote her out of my will forever. The End.)
The perfect pair of jeans does not exist. This is true because some idiot in the fashion industry (possibly more than one) decided to bring back acid-wash jeans, like the eighties weren't bad enough the first time around. Also because clothing designers have yet to discover that, after curving out to accomodate a woman's hips, you need to curve back in (going from the bottom, up) to take into account the fact that we also have a waist. And boot-cut jeans are too hip to sit at the natural waist. So, really, it's pretty much a lost cause.
The last time I bought jeans, I got them on sale at Chico's. You have to love a store where no one is larger than a 3. I bought jeans that filled all requirements except being boot-cut and fitting at the waist. Then I took them to a tailor, and had her take in the waist a full four inches. FOUR inches!! "Wow" she told me, "your waist is really tiny!" Actually, the truth is I have big hips, but she's been my favourite person since she said that.
I refuse to believe that my shape is that odd or difficult to fit. I am a reasonably sized woman, with a very nice, womanly figure. I don't need to look like Twiggy, and I should be able to buy pants that fit. Standing in the fitting room (where nothing ever does) I repeat to myself: "If Rembrandt were still alive, I would be a goddess!"
Maybe I should look into getting a toga.