In Which I Talk Girly
In general I enjoy shopping but sometimes I detest it with a loathing so bad I almost begin wishing there was such a thing as a girl-only island upon which I could unashamedly wear bikinis all day. Such radical dreams usual begin to taunt me on the days I order an item of clothing from Ezibuy and it arrives looking or fitting much differently than the catalogue led me to believe.
Today was almost a bad day. I say almost because I put the jeans on and they did fit. This is a small miracle in and of itself (I'm so thin jeans usually fall off me or are, at the other extreme, fit but end up five inches too short for my long legs).
Today the height problem was on the other end entirely. They were hipsters that ended up being less than promised. I stared at my reflection questioningly. When on earth did hipsters stop being on the hips and ended up under the hips? I honestly thought it hadn't been that long since I'd bought jeans.
With much intrepidation I showed my mum. She leaned back, told me to turn around, lift up my shirt, then pursed her mouth in that little 'um' expression and announced forthright and blatantly, "I saw Eleanor wear jeans like that once. She looked like she was trying to seduce every man in the room."
Bomb shell. Trust mums to state the truth. My cousin Eleanor just happens to work as a door girl at a strip club. The reference did not bring up nice, cute, modest images, all of which in my clothing choices I try to portray.
All my hopes of upgrading my wardrobe from one nice pair of jeans to two plummeted. Where does life get the right to be so cruel? Finding jeans that look good on me is like trying to find an elk with only one antler. It's long, disappointing work. I have three pair of pants I did buy that sit dejectedly on the bottom of my draw and countless others I've tried on and returned to the rack.
I thought I'd be in luck with this pair because I just happened to have bought the same jeans from the same shop three years earlier. I love them to death (here's a shot here) 
and I've spent all of the last three years looking for a similar pair but without luck. When a pair of jeans with the same name came up in the Ezibuy catalogue I thought my stars had changed. The price had gone down but surely that couldn't mean they'd changed that much about them.
Word to the wise: price does matter. Ten bucks can mean three extra inches.
I learnt this the hard way once before. We were away on holidays when I ran across a pair of cute turn-up three quarter shorts. They looked great on the rack, they were cheap, and they were just what I'd been looking for. We were in a hurry and I didn't get a chance to show either of my parents so I just picked them up.
The next morning I walked into my parents hotel room with them on. The reaction was not good. "um...Lyd." My Dad's tone could only mean one thing. I tied my jacket around my waist for rest of the day and at the first chance I got listed them on ebay. Thankgoodness on ebay it's easy to get your money back on items that are vertally brand new.
With the possibility of such a repeat ending echonig in my head I went back to my cupboard to ponder my dilemma. It wasn't that they were too tight, it wasn't that they were uncomfortable, it's just they were too low. Well, too low for this shirt. What others did I have? I scavenged around, finding two that might work. I put the red one on and showed my mum. "Is it at all feasible?"
Mum took a double take, "That actually works."
"Yeah?"
"Hiding the belt loops makes it look less obvious how low they are."
"I have two shirts this long. Know the white one with the pink beading? That one and this one. Is it worth keeping them just for two shirts?"
"How much did you pay?"
I stated the very reasonable price I'd bought them at.
"It's worth it."
I dearly hope they are. I'll give my dad a showing and wear them around a bit before I decide for good. It's insane how jeans can change with just a few wears and a wash. In the meantime, I wish I could put on weight (and so widen my choice of jeans) or find a shop that sold mid-rise jeans as cute as Ezibuy's. Maybe then the ridiculous girl-only island idea wouldn't sound so enticing.
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