My new jeans

A few weeks ago, our babysitter's mom called: "No one's going to be home at our house tonight, and Bonnie's wondering if she can come over." Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Ed and I decided to go out. We ended up at the most romantic place in Salt Lake on a Friday night-- the Costco next to the hospital. Ed wanted to check out bikes, and we were out of milk, and where else can you buy a nice mountain bike and two gallons of milk at the same time? On our way to the checkstand, we walked past the jeans display. When we moved to Salt Lake two years ago, I found the holy grail of jeans at the Downeast outlet. They fit better than any pair of jeans I'd ever bought, so I bought all three pairs that the store had in stock (weirdly enough, paying $15, $8.50 and $5 for three identical pairs). Triple score, right?

Well, after a few years of wearing them basically every day, two pairs of the jeans look like they've seen better days. A few weeks ago I went back to Downeast, and of course they didn't carry them any more (not like I really expected them to) and I bought another (less cheap) pair that I wore to Disneyland and spent the whole week hiking back up to my hips. When I saw that Costco had 7 for all Mankind jeans and they were on some special discount, I snapped up the one pair that I thought was in my size and took it home.

It fit like a glove. A slightly snug glove at first, but still, those jeans are hot.

So the next day, I got online to find myself another pair. I found a pair on eBay that seemed to have the same specs as the pair I'd bought (not that I got out a tape measure to actually verify that fact), and they were only $28. Score!

A few days later the jeans arrived. I closed the front door, checked to make sure none of the neighbors were watching, and slid out of the perfect, new pair of jeans that I'd been wearing all week. I expected the new new pair to fit just as well. I slid them up over my knees, so far so good, and they got stuck on my thighs. I tugged and tugged, but they'd go no further.

I set them aside and returned to the comfort of the other pair, feeling a little bruised. I'd have to return them, which meant I'd have to take an entourage the post office. Ugh.

A little later, just before the kids got home for the last day of school, I decided to give the jeans one last try. I'd seen a commercial where dieting women laid on their beds and got the jeans to zip. So I tried it, and voila, it worked. Sure, I could hardly breathe, the legs (advertised as a 32" inseam) barely reached my ankle bones, and the crotch hung a good inch below where it should be,  but I was going to conquer over these jeans. They'd stretch, right?

I've been wearing them for three days. They haven't stretched. I still have to lie down and hold my breath every time I zip them. I've stopped drinking so I won't have to pee. And the famed "expensive jean" stretch just isn't happening. But they're buttoned. That means they fit, right? I'm a little worried about tonight's ward party, though. What if I have to go to the bathroom? I can just imagine someone coming upon me, stretched out on the bathroom floor, trying in vain to get the dang jeans buttoned.