The Wrong Fit

I recently attempted to replenish my dying wardrobe with some new Fall must-haves...which for me, means jeans. I must have jeans. Though I thoroughly enjoy the art of shopping, my personal shopping experience is often, less than desireable. This of course due to my figure challenged body that has resulted from birthing my three wonders in, ahem, 4 1/2 years.(You can imagine the stretching.) In fact, shopping for myself is such an ordeal, that I usually schedule a day, weeks in advance, so that I can prepare myself, (not eat for 5 days), for the shopping experience.

So, last Saturday we loaded up the kids and headed out to the mall for the day. I prepared in advance and packed a bag full of snacks for the kids, so my husband could walk around the mall with them, while I tried on clothes. I situated my children in the double stroller, handed my husband the diaper bag, and sent them off.

I began my journey through the massive mall, and ended up in a particular store (I won't mention any names), and made my way over to the jean section. With every step I took, it was so strange I heard a sort of music in my ear, ya know that music they play in scary movies, right before the main character is about to be attacked. Da-Da-Dun. I knew this task wouldn't be easy, but I had no idea what I was about to get myself into. I began to shuffle around through the jeans, passed the acid washed and tapered legs, and headed to the boot leg, dark wash(they're slenderizing). I started to look for my size, well, actually two sizes--the size I wish I was which I always try on first, and the size I unfortunately really am. (Who do I think I'm fooling.) But, as I went to grab a size, I realized that the sizes on these jeans, were not normal. They only had the numbers 1-6 on them, and no, I was not in the junior section. I was completely confused, just how long had it been since I bought a new pair of jeans?

I glanced up at the sign hanging above the jeans, and read, "The Right Fit Jeans." From what I understood, the numbers had something to do with the number of inches from your waist to your thigh...HUH? My goodness, all I wanted to do was get a pair of jeans, and now I've got to go through some sort of major metric measuring system just to find my size? If I wanted to go through all that, I would have just went to a seamstress to make me some jeans out of that old lady, fake denim.

Anyway, I knew my time was running out and my children would be running in the store any minute, asking me when I would be done. (Prompted by my husband, of course) I quickly grabbed two numbers, any two numbers and headed to the dressing rooms. As I tried on the lower number jeans, I realized that this desperate attempt to cram my butt into them, was not happening. I pried them off my body and hoped to God that there weren't cameras in the dressing rooms. I reached for the larger numbered jeans, and put them on, only to find that they were too big. Now what? Just how does this "Right Fit" work exactly? Are there half sizes? Nope, I checked. I give up. And just in time, because wouldn't you know it, in run my three chocolate faced children. So, after an exhausting attempt at a wardrobe upgrade, I discovered that these "Right Fit" jeans, were exactly the opposite...they were the wrong fit. Oh well, Kmart here I come.