On Tuesdays I teach near a great consignment store, source of many of my favorite scores, and I often scoot over there between lessons to browse the racks. So there I was today with a little pile of jeans and skirts, and for the second week in a row something alarming/hysterical happened: the only thing that fit me were borderline mom jeans. Last week it was jeans from Coldwater Creek (please, no hate mail if this is your favorite store; mazel tov). I pulled them off the rack because they were the right style (wide leg) and color (dark), and then I groaned about the tag. Then I stood in the dressing room dying because they were almost perfect on. I didn't buy them because they don't have ass pockets and I personally think jeans without back pockets look ridiculous--that uninterrupted expanse of denim ass. But I think also I didn't buy them because I was like, really? I just turned 35 and now the only jeans that fit are from Coldwater Creek?
Then this week, I picked up jeans by NYJD, which stands for Not Your Daughter's Jeans. If there is another brand that screams "mom jeans" more than NYJD, I don't want to know about it. Also, their tag line is something like "for real women with real curves," which I absolutely hate--you know, that whole conflation of having curves with somehow being REAL, more real than a woman who is skinny or angular.
Whatever, the jeans fit, they had pockets, they were cuter than the last mom jeans I tried, but when I zipped them up all perfectly I seriously had to stifle laughter. Soon the people who work at this store are going to start recognizing me as the still-young woman who comes in every Tuesday and goes into the dressing room with mom jeans and starts laughing. I should mention, too, that this particular store has a shitload of security cameras and they just straight up tell you that they're monitoring the dressing rooms. I need to make a point of shimmying or doing some crazy butt dances when I'm in there, now that I think about it. Anyway, regardless of whether I stifle my laughter or not, they have to know that I'm laughing at myself because I am grimacing and quaking at the mirror.
So, that is the story of womansy me. ("Womansy" is an adjective that Emily made up to describe attire that is obscurely too mature to consider buying/wearing yourself.) I might as well head to Chico's and call it a day. So far I haven't purchased any mom jeans, but if I'm still thinking about the NYJDs in a few days and I can somehow mentally pole vault over the huge obstacle of the brand name, I may be sporting clothes that were designed with women of a certain age in mind.
On a related note, I also find that I'm talking to myself in public way more than I used to, generally when I'm shopping and I see something ridiculous. I wish I could remember what inspired this, but I know that when I was looking for wool knee highs at TJ Maxx last week I actually sang "Ho-leeee SHIIIIIIIIT" about something, in a quiet opera voice. And that was only one of many audible, shall we say, ejaculations on my part.
Speaking of which, does anyone else remember being puzzled as a youngster by the fact that Louisa May Alcott used the word "ejaculated" in place of "exclaimed" or some other less sexual verb? I hoped I was not making this up, but check it out, I just went to Online-Literature and performed the following awesome search:
(please do click to embiggen)
This site finds 8 occurrences of the word in the works of LMA, but I swear I remember more. For example, I remember Jo ejaculating at least once.