When my sons were tweens, and then teens, they hated shopping for clothes with a distain equal only to that held for having to sit through weddings, funerals, recitals, band performances, or god forbid, eating out. For years, I made a valiant effort to spare them the intense trauma of visiting a department store by schlepping home multiple sizes of shirts, pants, and shoes, cajoling them into trying them on, then apologetically returning those that didn't fit. Even then, the "trying on" phase was a parental nightmare of demonic dimensions.
It seemed every time I turned around the guys were wearing high waders again and we finally hit the wall. They had to go try on pants. In a moment of attempted parental humor, Earle and I riffed on the idea of a Disney World-type theme park filled with all the things our sons hated. There might be a Homework Hullabaloo, an Immunization Station, or a Haircut Hall of Fame. But the worst of these imagined nightmares was PANTS MOUNTAIN, a massive pile of jeans, khakis and slacks, waiting to be tried on.
This became part of our family lingo. Shopping was visiting Pants Mountain. Projects, visiting grandparents for Sunday lunch, or helping with household chores weren't fun, but at least they weren't Pants Mountain.
Well now, the worm has turned.
What goes around, comes around.
Or in other words,
Karma's a bitch.
Yesterday, I had to dash to Kohls to return an Amazon dress purchase which definitely did not make me look like the model I saw online. This was bad enough, that is to say, seeing my "jelly roll" accented in all it's adipose glory. But while I stood in line behind a gentleman that was having trouble navigating to the Amazon return menu on his smartphone, I thought to myself, in for a penny, in for a pound.
I was already out, actually in a department store, and could spare a moment. I desperately needed new pants. This was the ideal time to pick up a few pair.
For anyone who has struggled with the scales as I have over the years, you may have a variety of jeans in different sizes and styles lurking in your closet. There are the high-waisted "mom jeans" that practically come up to your bosoms. There are the "low riders" that show an indecent amount of old lady underpants. And there are the pants that have some give.
If you are the woman of a certain age and a certain size you know what I mean. They are kind to you when you've been to the Indian buffet. They hug you forgivingly during the holiday season. They grown and shrink with you as the scales move up and then down.
I bought two nice pair of said pants in 2019. At first they seemed great. But now, they just aren't. The give had gave out and by the end of the day, I literally found myself tugging them up every few feet I walked. And to my horror, when bending over, they eased down my hips exposing my ample posterior in what is commonly referred to as a "plumber's crack." Ain't nobody needs to see that.
So I gathered my courage and headed towards the sportswear section of Kohls.
I had two primary areas to choose from and speed was of the essence since my mom was home without me. So I zipped over to the store brand, Sonoma, and grabbed a few pair, then dashed to the Lee section grabbing black capris and khakis. And finished at the huge Lee WALL OF JEANS.
The Wall of Jeans is somewhat misleading. From a distance it looks like an orderly display but in fact it is chaos. 6s and 10s live side by size with 16s and 18s. There is no rhyme or reason to the arrangment and all one can do, is search pair by pair, like participating in a fiendish Roadblock from the Amazing Race. And add in the fact that really, you need a SHORT, makes your task that much harder. And when you then realize that you need to bend over, in public, in the aforementioned jeans, well, ain't nobody needs to see that.
At last I found the Holy Grail, the size, style, color, and length of jeans I was looking for, added it to my stack, and headed to the dressing room across the store.
There were only a few folks around and for that I am grateful. The groans and sighs escaping from my stall were those of despair and desperation. I tried the Sonomas first. They were about half the price of the Lees and made of a soft supple denim. They zipped fine, but they had no give. And no support. My "prosperous" tummy looked especially wealthy. I tried the next pair, which looked the same except the denim was striated in such a way that it looked like cat's whiskers sprouting from either side of the zipper. WHAT the WHAT? I kicked them off as if they were live rattlesnakes. Horrible.
Then on to the Lees. The black capris were fine because, well, they were black and the khakis were serviceable.
But when I tried on the Holy Grail, the Lee Ultra Luxe Straight Leg Denim Jeans, the birds began to sing. The sun came out. The pants hugged me where I needed to be hugged yet managed to stay up in for all critical movements which I performed in front of an unforgiving three way mirror. Serendipity. Joy. Relief.
After changing back into my very bland leggings, I carried all three pair tenderly to the cashier where I tendered a $10 birthday coupon and a 25% off coupon. Once they were purchased and bagged, I carried them triumphantly to my car.
I hope and I pray that the Lees and I will live happily ever after.
Now if I could only get a Tshirt that reads "I SURVIVED PANTS MOUNTAIN."
