Blue is my world when I'm without you, Part 3

Part 1
Part 2

My old blue jeans. The ones I'm unnaturally attached to. They were the reason of my last relationship. We were both wearing Calvin Kleins in the same wash. We bonded over our pants. (Hush, you.)

I was also wearing them the night my ex-boyfriend came up behind me in a bar and breathed into my ear, "Your ass doesn't look like a perfect peach, it looks like a perfect apple."

"Is that better?" I asked without turning around.

"Mmm."

I told all this to Erin.

She sighed, "You might have to spend some extra money and go to the other mall."

"Not Phipps!"

"Yes, Phipps."

"You know how expensive Phipps is?"

"Yes, but they have people who work there for a living, not just for after school jobs. They know what they're doing. You go in there and pick a store and tell them what you want-"

"Like jeans that cover my ass and don't bunch around the ankles?"

"I hate that new style!"

"Damn skinny jeans."

"So yeah, find a store in Phipps and they'll help you out."

"I'm so sick of this."

"I know."

So I drove there. A girl couldn't be seen walking into Phipps; she had to arrive in style. And by style, I mean a 1998 Explorer. But it has leather.

I passed Gucci and Versace. Paused momentarily and drooled at Tiffany's (oddly the title Capote didn't go for). Maybe I could forget about the blue jeans and get a tiny tiny diamond. Then I remembered my priorities and passed Tiffany's as well.

There is was: Lucky Jeans. They had a curtain of blue jeans hanging in the window; this was the place. I walked in and tried to discreetly examine a price tag.

"Can I help you?"

I was caught like a kid with his hand in the candy barrel. I dropped the tag, cursing that I never got to see the price. He was a nice looking man, but I was on a mission.

"Yes. I am looking for blue jeans. Low rise. And by low rise I mean right below the belly button, not right above the pubic hair."

He stifled a laugh.

"And nothing tight. I do not want to see the word, 'stretch.' And none of the new style with the 80's ankles."

He nodded, smiling. "This isn't your first place is it?"

"This isn't even my first week for this pair of jeans."

He led me to a shelf marked "Sundown." They were available in every shade. "What size are you? he asked."

I squinted at the jeans and panicked. They were all in boy sizes. Shit. "Um, I don't know."

You look about a 28," he said. "Now what color wash?"

"Not acid wash. I actually like them kind of dark."

His face lit up. He crouched down to the bottom shelf and grabbed a pair that looked almost black. "These just came in last week. It's a brand new color. I love them."

He unfolded the jeans and they didn't look as black as they originally did on the shelf. "Um, okay." And then pointing to the next pair not as dark, "And those too."

In the dressing room I tried the lighter of the two pair on. They fit better than anything I had previously tried on, but they were still a bit hippie (not in a bell-bottom way, only ladies will understand). I looked at the price tag: $90. Sadly, I pulled the jeans off.

Then I grabbed the new hip pair so dark I fade into the night, ninja-style. I put them on. Just then, the ceiling busted open and an angel appeared singing with a harp in her arms. God's light shone down on me in the Lucky dressing room in Phipps Mall. This was it. The perfect pair. I've never had a pair of jeans that fit me so well; it was like they used my body to design those jeans.

"Everything all right in there?"

The ceiling closed back up and the angel fled. "Yeah, I have a question though." I pulled back the curtain. "I had two pairs of jeans in the same style and the same size. Why do they fit me differently?"

"Even though they are the same cut, each pair is made separately," he explained. He pointed to my holy jeans, "Those were made a different time than the others, so they might differ slightly, altering the fit. They are all priced differently too even though they are the same style."

I grabbed the tag: $115. "These are more than the others!"

"Remember, they just came out."

I had no choice but to get the heavenly pair. With tax it was $120. I just spent $120 on blue jeans. $120 on an article of clothing deemed not suitable to wear to work.

But as you see, I had no choice.

Blue is my world when I'm without you, Part 2

Part 1

After I exhausted my cheaper alternatives for blue jeans, I had no choice but to head to the mall. I don't really like the mall- too many people who look better than me, and too many people in general. In my price pattern, I headed to the cheaper of the 2 malls. Atlanta, in some evil-genius strategy, only has 2 malls and they are literally across the street from one another. Both have a Gap.

I exhausted Bloomingdales, Macy's, and Neiman Marcus. I felt fat and ugly by Urban Outfitters, Guess, and Gap. I vowed never to enter American Eagle or Hollister again. Then I saw it: Abercrombie. I had been telling friends recently that I haven't bought anything from there since I was in high school, but I still wore the clothes every day and they fit me better and lasted me longer than any other article of clothing. So what if pants are $70? They'll last me 10 years.

I counted on my fingers, it had been 7 years since I walked into an Abercrombie. I saw all the colors that perfectly match each other and can be worn interchangeably. I was a sucker for the Abercrombie orange. I touched a few t-shirts, mentally noting that I needed to come back here after this whole jeans fiasco. I held up a t-shirt that read, "Blonde with a brain" and laughed. I needed this. But something didn't seem right about the shirt; it looked... smaller. Distracted by the sight of jeans, I set the shirt down and walked away.

My penchant for jeans that cover my butt crack left me with only 2 viable options at Abercrombie: a "distressed" pair and a normal pair. I don't mind the holes in the knees-- I can't wear blue jeans to work anyways, so what did it matter? I looked up at the wall and tried to find my size.

Double zeros and zeros were on a shelf at the height of my shoulders. At the height of my head was the shelf of the twos. Above that, the fours. I kid you not-- the shelf with the sixes and the eights were right below the ceiling. Even at my height, I couldn't reach them. Logically, it makes sense because the double zeros are probably shorter than me, the six. But one thought kept running through my mind over and over: Fatty can't reach the jeans. Fatty can't reach the jeans. Fatty can't reach the jeans.

This fatty was not about to ask the size double zero behind the counter to grab the stick and poke down the big girl sizes. I began the super cool and super stealth move of jumping up while trying to knock any pair down. After looking like a thorough ass clown, I was successful.

Teeny-tiny Double Zero opened the dressing room door for me. 7 years ago, Abercrombie sizes ran big. This was not the case anymore. Also Abercrombie does not account for body parts such as the hips. Or the ass. Or the waist for that matter. Knees down they looked great though.

Goodbye, Blonde with a brain t-shirt. I fear I shall never see you again.

With perfect timing, my phone rings. "How's the jeans hunt?" Erin asked.

"When did I get so old?!" I cried. I told her about American Eagle and Abercrombie. "I want pants that go right up to the bottom of my belly button, why is this an impossible request?"

"Abercrombie is for skinny preteens," she snarked. "You know they have a weight requirement to work there?"

"Yeah, I met Double Zero. It didn't used to be like that," I sniffed.

I thought back to my jeans at home. Dear Calvin Kleins, why the big gaping hole? You fit me perfectly even fresh from the dryer. You came with a belt that matched most my winter wardrobe. You had the perfect dark wash that seems to be coming out of style in lieu of acid wash.

Eff this.

I went home and picked up my jeans folded neatly on top of the bed. Every time I stitched them back together by hand or by the sewing machine, they always ripped apart again. Almost immediately. As soon as I climbed in my truck, I felt a breeze on my left thigh. In college I had one foolproof method that fixed hems that came undone and bra straps the dog chewed through.

I went to my night stand and opened the bottom drawer, hoping it would still be there with a few other select school supplies. Under the binder of every paper I had written in college, and next to the three-hole-punch, I found it. I was lucky.

I turned my bad pant leg inside out and began work. I lined up the newest ripped edges and began stapling. That's right. I did it. I stapled my pants back together. If thread wasn't going to keep this tear together, little metal prongs would. I put the jeans on and admired my work. The pants, even with the staple edges, looked better than anything I had on that day. You couldn't even seen the staple edges because of where the rip was.

"You stapled your pants together." Erin, somehow, was not surprised.

"Yes, yes I did."

"Well you can't really tell."

"He's got no business getting personal with my ass anyways, so I think I'll get away with it."

Erin laughed.

The staples did the job. Not once throughout the night did I feel my pants tear. The next morning I pulled the jeans off the floor and admired my work again. The rip was still closed, but a new one began at the top of the row of staples. The staples compromised the fabric even further and now my pants looked like Frankenstein's monster's neck.

Looks like my hunt for blue jeans continues. There's only one place left.

Blue is my world when I'm without you, Part 1

I had a date. A couple of days beforehand, I wandered into my closet and pulled out my blue jeans and examined them. I put them on a shelf a month earlier after I ripped them for the third time after trying to sew them back together. I had worn the jeans so thin that there was a rip below my left buttock that no amount of mending could fix. I stuck my hand through the hole-- No, these won't do, I thought. I can't go on a date with ripped jeans.

The next day after work I began my jeans hunt. Naturally when shopping I start at the cheapest place and work my way up until I find what I want. I drove to the closest shopping center and walked into TJMaxx. It was there I realized that not a lot of people buy blue jeans during the hot summer months. They only had a few pairs, all on clearance, and I grabbed a few and tried them on. I settled on a pair of Tommy Hilfiger for $12.99. I stood in the dressing room mirror and looked at my reflection, trying to imagine the pants with slinky date tops. I cocked my head, there was nothing wrong with the pair I selected, but there was nothing right about it either.

Barefoot in the dressing room I thought back to my beloved pair waiting for me a home. Blue jeans are as important to a person's style as is her hair. I didn't need to recklessly buy any pair--this was a big decision. I buy a pair of jeans about once every two years, I can't believe I was going to waste my purchase on a pair of too-blue blue jeans. I sighed and yanked them off of me. I knew nothing less than a multiday journey laid ahead of me to find the perfect pair, as perfect as my poor Calvin Kleins, if not better.

Next up the price ladder was Old Navy, which was perfect because it was located right below TJMaxx. I took the escalator down and headed straight to the wall-o-jeans. First of all, they weren't dark enough for me, but they were under the $30 rank. I grabbed what I could in my size and went to the dressing room.

Oh.

Dear.

God.

I am wearing a "special edition" pair of Old Navy jeans. What makes them special edition? They're predrawn on. The little bird by the pocket I could get over. All the dots up and down the zipper? It's like a connect-the-dots around my crotch. I thought of being on a date and trying to explain:

"No, I didn't draw that..."

"No, I wasn't wearing them while someone else drew that."

"Yes, I bought them this way..." Even in my head, I hung my head in shame.

"No, I'm not obsessed with my vagina, Old Navy is."

I actually licked my finger and tried to rub off the "special edition." Nope, this is special edition ink.

Next.