Getting older catches up on you quite unexpectedly. Sometimes you catch up with people you went to school with and you’ve not seen in a while and for some reason ‘they’ look so much older than you. It’s a fact everybody is getting older except us.
That’s not quite true, my recent realisation that I too am getting older came with a phone call I had from my sister. There’s a year between us and mostly our conversations are around work and children. But a recent phone call took on a new twist she declared, much to her amusement that my brother-in-law had discovered ‘stretchy jeans’ and was beside himself with happiness. He simply couldn’t understand why he hadn’t known about them before now.
‘He’s in there now’ she told me ‘stretching and doing those squat things, like a teenager’
I had a visions of my brother-in-law dancing like a Cossack in his kitchen in Limerick. Which I’ve never seen him do so I’ve no idea why this image popped into my head.
I decided that stretchy jeans were the answer to my problem. I wanted girlie jeans and I too wanted to be able to the Cossack dance in my kitchen. I’d spent far too much time on my bed trying to get the zip up on my jeans. That was all fine when I was younger and a size 8 now that I’m much older and not a size 8 the effect was not the same. Now I look the same sideways as I do front ways, this was a disturbing discovery for me but a fact I had to deal with, however I may have found the answer ‘stretchy jeans’
I took myself off to Arnotts, I decided instead of going through dozens of displays pulling and tugging on jeans, in various shops, to see if they were actually stretchy I could just ask an assistant, they’re always nice to me in there. They didn’t call me madam like they did in BTs, they’re all quite posh and well, I’m not.
‘I want stretch jeans’ I declare to the juvenile assistant.
‘We’ve got Mom jeans’ she beamed at me.
What the feck are ‘Mon jeans’ I’ve never heard the like in my life.
‘My mam wears them all the time and she loves them’ she was pulling at straws as I’m sure my face had registered a vacant expression.
‘Let’s have a look at them so’ I mustered up as much enthusiasm I could, I suspected her mother was younger than me and if they good enough for her then they’d be good enough for me.
‘Oh they’re great, they’re high waisted so no muffin top, and they lift your bottom’
Lift my arse, where were they going to lift it to. I mean it’s not like it falls down around the back of my knees when I get undressed. I don’t have to tuck it neatly with my jacket underneath me when I sit down. All I want are stretchy jeans so I too can do the Cossack dance.
She handed me a pair of ‘mom jeans’ in the right size I didn’t even have to tell her, she was better at her job than I thought. I shook them open looking inside for any evidence of some sort of lifting equipment, but could see nothing at all.
Well firstly I didn’t have to lie down to put on my ‘mom jeans’ they slipped nicely over my hips and the zip glided up with me having to encourage. There I was in my stretchy ‘mom jeans’ with no muffin top and a perfectly pert arse. I’ve no idea how they did it must be some sort of magic or something.
The big test would of course be the Cossack dance. But I waited until I got home, so in my kitchen in Dublin I stood in my new ‘mom jeans’ flicked on YouTube and fired up some Russian Cossack dancers. Oh dear God they were shouting and clapping their hands and I swear they were on strings, they were bouncing up and down legs flaying about and occasionally in a squatting position throwing one leg out after another.
Oh dear oh dear I couldn’t do that at all, I could have tried but I feared it would result in an injury to myself. So I did one squat and I have to say my stretchy jeans wear amazing. It felt like I was wearing yoga pants, I was free to move whatever way I wanted. So after my one squat I moved to the sofa with a mug of coffee and confident mood.
The joy of stretchy jeans..