Jeans, jeans, those wonderful pants in QUOTIDIEN

The more I try, the more I can't. Or something like that.

Yesterday was 'new pants' day for daughter and me. Being the teenager she is, she tried on about 649,112 pairs before she decided she didn't want any. Pulling a page directly from The Exorcist manuscript, my head spun around and I said in a tone that could have warranted a white huggie jacket and my own room in Belleview, 'PICK A PAIR'. I spared her the deluge of pea soup.

Then came my turn. When people ask what my body type is, I always flounder. Mentally checking off the apple, pear, and banana shape, the natural conclusion always seems to be 'fruit salad'.

Because my favorite jeans are a size 14 (stretch jeans) have recently become too tight (thank you steroids and Verapamil -you bastards), but my regular 16 dress pants always seem a little uncomfortable, my first choice was a pair of 18s. Unexpectedly, they fell off my hips. I killed the intelligent little voice that screamed 'VANITY SIZING'. So....maybe 16s? How cool was that?!

I slipped them on -and they were comfortable. Comfortable in a way that suggested they would be an oversized nuisance by noon. Yeeehaaaaw! That inner voice, which I have now concluded MUST be a 9-lived cat, cautions my pride just as I am trying to stuff my corpulent leg into the pea-shooter-sized legs of the size 14s.

And finally, I bought mid-rise -sort of for the same reason people of a certain age start buying sensible shoes. So, does mid-rise mean halfway between belly button and boobs for you ladies? Because, that's how it's working out for me.

It is now 9am of the next day, and I have already started pulling these size 16 jeans from hell to high heaven!