I went to the bin under the bed. I am not sure where your bin is...the one filled with size too small clothes you can't get rid of because SOMEDAY! Someday, people. You just wait and see! That bin is under my bed and I de-dust bunnied it and pulled it out. I paused, holding the lid aloft and said softly, barely an audible whisper, "Hey, Cal."
Ahhhh. Calvin Klein.
Calvin Klein size 10s. Calvin Klein sized....8s! My cheeks got all chapped as I rubbed my face into the wale of the army green cords and snuggled the soft knees of the sandblasted light blue denim. The sandblasted....light blue....in at the ankle....wait.
These are kind of....
These are....can I say it? Can I know it? ME? The least stylish person of the world can recognize that these pants are OUT of STYLE?
Because they are.
(But they do come with the kangaroo pouch restraints.)
I have GOT to try these on.
(The sound of the upper thighs falling into the pant's legs as I pull and pull these bad boys up.)
They are up! They are.....buttoned(ish)!
I pull the oversized sweater down and voila! They fit(ish)! They look so completely terrible! They are at my ankle and they... are touching my ankle... and they are trash. They are. Yes, Kate. Throw them in the bag. Put them IN the baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaag.
I turned towards the corduroys. I love my cords. I have no shame in it. Cordy cordy corduroys-ies!
If you were all I could affords
I would buy and hoards
You forever in my Accords
And I would never get boreds
I have an overcoat of corduroy. If they made corduroy socks they would be on my feet. (Corduroy thong would not meet my approval.)
Now these pants I loved. They were from the time when pants were tight over the hips and then sailor panted out. (Shockingly, I also noted that this cut is coming back in style. That makes me 2 for 2 in style knowledge.) I loved theeeeeeeese paaa-aaa-aaants. I bought these at Sterns. Sterns doesn't even exist anymore.
Up they go over the skin rashed, tender skin I created on my thighs from the jeans. The mushroom cloud effect of lower roll rises up and over the waistline (but I can tuck it back down due to the higher waist cut.)
The pockets are YAWNING open, unable to sit flat against my hips. When I look in the mirror I smile at myself as one would smile at an earnest child who was failing so completely at something. I promptly took them off and put them in the bag.
And screw you, bin. The plan is to no longer hold on to past clothing, hoping for someday. I have too much Now and so much Future. I don't need the pale blue jeans of my former self. I gave up my Calvins for Mr. Eddie Bauer. We are hot and heavy. And warm. (In corduroy)