It was a day like many others in my world. The endless search for that pair of jeans that fit. just. right. had landed me at Target in the skinny jeans aisle (is there an aisle? No? It seemed like it).
Now before we go any further, I should tell you that I completely avoided the skinny jean rack for several years before that day in Target. You see, thanks to sheer genetic luck (thanks mom and dad) I have large calf muscles. All my life people have asked me what I do to make my calf muscles look so defined and muscular. Sometimes, just to add spice to life, I come up with an elaborate story about how I was a champion swimmer in school, and although the rest of my body has headed a bit south, the well-defined calves have stayed.
Of course, that's mostly a lie. I did swim in school, but I wasn't a champion and the calves are just the chromosomal love of God in my life. Everyone in my family has big calf muscles (and OH that the rest of my body was that easy to maintain!), and they're something of a hindrance in the quest to find a pair of suitable skinny jeans.
The other thing you should know is that I hate shopping. I'm a "buy it now, try it on at home" kind of girl, which frustrates the living daylights out of my husband because we're constantly taking something back somewhere. But in today's story, it actually worked in my favor—sparing me what could have been endless years of embarrassment, and the very real possibility of never being able to show my face in Target again (a tragedy, I know).
Now on with the story.
Once home with my new, glistening pair of skinny jeans (the very first pair I'd ever owned!) I marched straight upstairs to our Master bedroom to try them on! Dreams of tall boots and long sweaters danced in my head as I wiggled my way into all that skinny goodness.
Miraculously, I snapped the top button with no problem at all. This was going well my friends, and I won't lie and say I wasn't a little bit excited! One of the biggest problems I have with jeans is that I can't stand for them to pull on my waist at all. And these fit like a charm in the waist department. It was meant to be!
After admiring my figure from the waist up in our mirror that sits above our chest of drawers, I strutted my stuff down the hall to my son's room where the only full-length mirror in our home currently lives. Hair swinging, and hands on hips I glamour-posed my new little skinny jeaned self in front of that mirror and feasted my eyes on the worst-looking pair of skinny jeans possibly known to man.
Turns out those well-defined, sculpted calf muscles that look so great in a dress or shorts looked HORRIBLE bulging the seams out of what was beginning to feel a bit like a second skin.
Degraded, I moped my way back to the bedroom, unzipped my prized skinny jeans, and began the shimmy out of them. I peeled the perfectly fitted waist down, got over the thighs with no problem, and began making my way downward toward the calves when the unthinkable happened.
I got stuck.
Or rather, my super-athletic, genetically large calf muscles got stuck.
I tugged, and pulled, and hopped, and shimmied, and wiggled, and pointed, and flexed, and grunted, and groaned all to no avail. Completely defeated, I flopped myself down on our bed and began yelling for my husband to come save me.
He arrived on the scene somewhat surprised to see me in that position and a little unsure of my intentions. With one eyebrow up he listened to me explain my predicament, laughed until he may have cried a little, and then grabbed my precious skinny jeans by the heels and pulled.
And groaned and grunted and all that stuff all over again until they finally popped off, never to find their way back on my big-calved body again.
I returned them a few days later with a sigh mixed with a little sadness and a little relief. I would later go on to find a marvelous pair of not-so-super tight skinny jeans at another store that fit me just perfect. But that day will go down in history at the McGlothlin Home for Boys as the day mom got herself stuck in a pair of skinny jeans from Target.
Can you imagine if I had tried them on in the store??? Heavens to Betsy.
(This entire post was inspired by my friend Stacey Thacker's recent admission to breaking up with her skinny jeans)