The Skinny on Jeans

I have a beef against Levi Strauss and his lot. They're anti-mommies and pro-liposuction.

Last weekend, I decided it was high-time I should reward myself for being such “a great mom” (My son’s words, not mine. And he doesn’t talk yet. Go figure).

So off to Shangrila mall I go a-hoppin’ to buy meeh-self a nice pair of jeans! The last time I bought a pair was two years ago. Turns out two years is a loooong time to be out of the fashion loop. 'Cause I was really surprised (and the surprise spiraled into a 10-minute depression, tops) when I saw what the "in" thing was in jeans: skinny jeans. “Skinny” meaning “Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am, but just your skin will do so do leave your skeleton in your closet, thank you for understandin’, ma’am, appreciate it.” They're barely there. They're tIght (tighter than Matt Damon and Ben Afleck). And low. I tried one on and it barely covered the bikini cut (aka My Guy Smiley) I got when I gave birth last year. The zipper rubbed against M.G.S. His smile is a bit crooked now. The denim seemed to be glued to my legs. I suppose that's meant to keep my cellulites all snug. Tight on the crotch area, too. So no air would pass through? Why, Levi and Co. must be smart ‘cause I remember in my Science classes that warm air goes up and causes early menopause or something. So, thank you boys for preventing that to happen. So thoughtful. Appreciate it. They even knew my bums were gonna just fall off any sec that’s why they made ‘em oh-so-tight on the behind. No air can pass through. In or out, doesn't matter. It used to be that my pair of jeans act as a girdle. Because of the thickness of denim, I didn’t need to hold my breath in to hide my beer belly. But now with this low rise skinnies, the stretch marks on my stomach just hang grandly like the gardens of Babylon. Who’d want to buy jeans that make one look like a hooker, anyway?

Well...I do. I did. Pretty Woman kind of hooker, though (I'm picky that way). In my mind, after giving birth to a 6 pounder, who's now four times his birth size, I deserve a reward. The illusion that I'm a a Hot Mama is good enough for me. So my pair of skinnies is there, hanging in my closet, waiting for me finish doing crunches. And dips. And laps. And lifts, 5 reps each. Maybe I should just call Jenny Craig.