Bad Jeans

I had to do it, I had to buy a pair of jeans. When I left Chicago, for some reason, I TOOK the jeans out of my suitcase. They didn’t fit well at all and were starting to fall off, but I did have a belt, there were options. Not too fashionable, but there were options. No, I took the out of the suitcase and put them BACK in my closet and came to London without a pair of jeans.

I did bring the cropped jeans I wore to the shop all summer, you know the ones. The big 4 inch cuff that hit mid-shin and they were perfect for scooping ice cream, perfect. Not perfect for winter in London. I got desperate last weekend and uncuffed them, wore them low on my hips, cinched with a belt because I’ve lost too much weight to really wear them. I’m not sure anyone noticed how silly my pants looked, but certainly nobody noticed how great I looked either.

So tonight, in an act of shopping desperation, I bought a pair of jeans. The largest UK size I could find at Marks and Spencer in a low-waist, flare leg, stretch denim. I can zip them, but I can barely breathe. But, they are the proper length and are actually jeans. I figure in a week or two or six, I’ll lose enough that these fit nicely. For now, it is touring Italy in skintight jeans–kind of like a local, I guess.