I love denim. I always have. I love jeans, and I love the idea of jeans that keep me looking young. I am a total sucker for denim ads. For real. I so want those ads to be true!
The other day I came downstairs in a pair of new jeans. I will admit that when I bought them all 4 kids were waiting in the car just outside the store. So, I was rather rushed. There may have been one child lying on the dashboard, face pressed the windshield, with his mouth gaping open in a silent scream. There may have been one teenage daughter rolling her eyes and turning her ipod up louder, along with a toddler who was demanding to be let out of his car seat. The other daughter just had a stone faced I-am-so-not-part-of-this-scene look on her face. I just held my pointer finger up. You know, woman's universal signal for 'just one more minute' that translates to 'as many just one more minutes as I need'. So I may not have had the most discerning eye when looking in the horror that is a three-way mirror in a dressing room.
I came downstairs needing some honesty. I knew Lee would have it for me.
"Lee, do you think these look to bell-bottomy?" I innocently asked.
"No. They're great," he answered, not even looking up from his computer.
"No, seriously, look at them. I don't want to look silly," I requested. He obliged me by giving me the once-over.
"Well, if I'm going to be honest," he said with hesitation, "they kind of look like clown pants."
"Aagh! I knew it. I'm going to run over and see if they're still having a sale and get a different pair," I said.
"No, no, no! Don't go. Dinner is almost ready, we've got other things to do," he pleaded. I knew that translated to 'no more spending money on clothes'.
"Come on, I'll leave for my meeting a little early, get a new pair - only if it's a really good sale. I cannot look like a clown!" I declared, grabbing my purse.
"No, don't go! You can't go!" desperation was dripping from his voice. Then he stepped into the abyss and shouted, "I LOVE CLOWNS!"
Lee immediately went pale. He knew he had stepped in it big time. The clown statement could not be recalled. I just crossed my arms and enjoyed the moment.
You know, the moment you know you've got something you'll be able to hold over someone's head for years.
I knew it was just panic driving his clown love admission.
First, he didn't want me to leave before dinner was finished. It's not that he can't cook, or won't cook. He can do that. Its that he was organizing his itunes and did not want to be interrupted. Secondly, he didn't want me spending any more money. It's not that he does not allow me to spend money; that's absolutely not the case. He just knows, after many years of seeing me shop for jeans, that all roads paved with denim lead to dissatisfaction. The jeans never quite live up to the expectations of giving my booty some lift, or slimming my waist. I mean, if they do lift my derriere I am not quite able to walk. If they do slim my waist, my waist is simply redistributed to other areas. So my man was really pleading for me to just deal with what I had lest I waste more money.
Seventeen years of marriage has not gone by without my man learning a thing or two, though.
"Wait! Wait!" my sweetheart shouted, hasty to redeem the moment.
"They might be bell-bottoms, but they make your butt look really small!" my darling practically shrieked.
I kept the jeans, and the man.