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I went shopping for jeans.
Currently, I am working towards a healthier (and thinner) me. Which means, I hate my body at the moment. It also happens to be at this exact moment of self loathing that my jeans ripped. Yep. The jeans that fit me. Ripped. Inner thigh area. I inherited my dad’s calves and my mom’s thighs. It’s not a pretty mashup. And now, because of the ripped jeans, I had to view myself, in a mirror, from the neck down. Something I wanted to avoid until I hated my scale a little less.
So, what’s a girl to do?
That’s right – I hit up the Goodwill store. I just couldn’t imagine paying a significant amount of money on jeans that I am hoping will be too big for me before the friction of my thighs tears them up.
Racks upon racks of jeans at The Goodwill! I loaded up my cart and went into the dressing room determined and optimistic that I would not leave crying.
The first three pair I tried on wanted to be ultra skinny jeans over my massive calves. Nope. Still feeling optimistic though. Next came the pair that didn’t have enough denim attached to cover my entire backside. Ummmm….why make Shakira hip shaker jeans for women of a certain size? My belly has gone through three c-sections. No one wants to see that mess. My optimism is now quickly dropping.
Seriously considering maternity jeans at this point.
It was the final pair that I had taken in to the dressing room (with the questionable substance on the mirror) that was the not perfect but good enough pair of jeans. They fit fine in the waist and didn’t cut off the circulation of my He-Man calves.
I am determined to not need to shop for another pair of jeans for at least another twenty pounds.