I recently had a birthday where I turned old, and as a consequence I’ve been wanting a pair of those oh-so-fashionable skinny jeans in the hopes that they might make me look not as old as I am.
A dear friend even gave me a gift card for my birthday, with the admonition that it was to be used toward a pair of skinny jeans.
Buying a pair of skinny jeans has proven more complicated than I thought.
Skinny jeans require a pair of cute shoes to go with them, but I don’t have any cute shoes. I have duck feet, and it’s hard to find cute shoes that would fit a duck. Arch support is also becoming increasingly important now that I’m old. “4E with Dr. Scholl’s insert” does not equal “cute shoe.”
I do have a pair of gray and silver sneakers that are sort of cute (oh, who am I kidding?), and a pair of scuffed-up cowboy boots, but I’m thinking either one of those will completely negate any pitiful aura at stylishness afforded by a pair of skinny jeans.
Skinny jeans also require cute tunics, because my skinny parts only go so far up. I don’t have any cute tunics, either. There are lots of cute, sheer long shirts in the stores this season, but they all require a T-shirt or a camisole layered underneath, and women of a certain age who are prone to hot flashes have no business layering.
Oh, the cute tunics also need to have elbow-length sleeves. Either that or Spanx needs to invent something to keep my upper arms from jiggling.
Acquiring a pair of skinny jeans — along with the prerequisite cute shoes and cute tunics — also requires a stretch of uninterrupted time, which is also hard to come by in my life right now.
Last week, I was sitting on the couch during a quiet moment, browsing at the online shoe store, when my daughter walked in, saw what I was doing and said, “That reminds me, I need new running shoes.” Which reminded me that my son also needed new running shoes (you don’t want to know how big his feet are now). So I stopped what I was doing to size and price and order two new pairs of running shoes, and by the time I was done the dryer was beeping and I had to go.
I also carved out a block of time last week to go clothes shopping for myself. It wasn’t much time — maybe half an hour squeezed in between picking up #2 from school, running to the grocery store, packing for a fall break trip and picking up #1 from cross-country practice — but it was my time.
At least until my son managed to ruin two pairs of pants in the span of four days. On Monday, he managed to blow out one whole knee of his pants leg. On Wednesday, there was some kind of incident during art class involving scissors and spray paint.
Those were the only two pairs of pants that fit well and met school dress code.
At least I already had some time blocked out for pants shopping.