Getting Into My Pants
My day started off with another night of sleep deprivation. At 3:10 am, the neighbor let the dog outside, and he barked till 5:30 AM. Big deep barks, about 10 feet from my window. Somewhere around 4 AM Larry went over there to knock on the door. No answer. Can't call the police, because they are useless. Been there done that, and they never show.
I think I slept 4 hours before I was awake for another 3. I slept in for a few more before I got up and started my day.
Since I could not get to yoga, I went to the gym for the first time in forever and did 1/2 hour on the elliptical, going a bit over 2 miles.
It had been SO long since I had been to a gym that my trusty Ipod was dead, and I was relegated to doing some people watching.
I check out the young woman in the skin tight tank top and low cut pants who is lifting weights like a pro. Definitely in good shape, and cute to boot.
I see a couple of middle aged men walking around the gym most of the time. They lift a weight here and there, and continue to strut talking to one another. I wondered if it was a relationship in the making.
I recognize a few people, then see an old acquaintance whose butt could serve as a serving surface for a meal. Now normally I am not "catty" but this person is the same one, who, when spotting me in my newly leased red Jetta in 1991, said "oh Patti, this is the nicest thing I have seen you drive to date". It was NOT meant as a compliment about my new hot car, but was instead a put-down of the multi-colored cars that I drove in the years of being a poor single parent.
That's OK --------- (name deleted) I think with a grin on my face. All your elitism and money STILL can't get rid of that gi-normous butt that you have been wearing the past 25 years. The bumper sticker MEAN PEOPLE SUCK flashes through my mind and I try to let it all go, as I don't like remembering the pain that I suffered in that other lifetime.
I go home and quickly shower as Karen is coming over to do a photo shoot of her art work for a show that we both want to be in. While I am getting dressed, I pull on my most beloved jeans, the pair Lois bought me in Pirate's Alley in New Orleans the spring before Katrina hit.
I love these jeans, the ones that make my ass look great, and fit like they were custom made for me. As I do the customary "yank them up over my hips by the belt-loops hike", I hear a clear RIP. I have nearly torn off the loop, and left a hole that shows my skivvies. OH NO, I groan.
After dropping off the submission, Karen and I head to a shop that has been in Woodstock for at LEAST 35 years.
Oh good. I need some new jeans. I flash back to 1972 when I bought one of my first pairs of Levis in Woodstock....
I go into the store and see brands like LUCKY and others that I don't recognize. I go over to the sale rack, and they are on sale for 99.00. YIKES. Yet I try some on, but they are so low that 4" of my low cut undies show.
"Don't you have anything higher cut?" I query. "Yes", the sweet young salesgirl responds. "How much are THEY?" I ask. "169.00" she coyly replies.
I gasp, and flash to a scenario where a kid accidentally gets paint on my pants.
I don't even bother to try them on, remembering the 15.00 pair that I bought a lifetime ago in the very same spot.
I think I will go to Marshalls, where for 100.00 I can buy at least 3-5 pairs for the same amount. Maybe they aren't Lucky (yeah, Lucky for the company that gets the big bucks for a name) but they are fine enough for me.
The measure of a woman isn't the tag on her jeans!
Patti O No Name!