At the back of my closet on the top shelf sits a pile of old beloved jeans that last fit me properly around three years ago. Occasionally I catch sight of them as I'm pulling something out and wonder if I'll be able to get them on again yet.
Last Friday, still unsure of my pregnancy status, I decided to try on a pair. I do strange things like that when I'm in a flap: Jeans to small? Possibly pregnant? What the hell, let's get them on!
To my disbelief, they fit.
Well, okay that's a lie. What actually happened was this: with some fierce effort and gymnastic maneuverings I was able to squeeze myself into the jeans, sucking in so hard I may have swallowed a nearby sizable object, and fasten the button.
I jumped - as much of a jump as I could manage in the too-tight jeans - for joy.
I remember buying these jeans on my lunch break in Covent Garden five or maybe six years ago thinking, at the time, what the ... I'm a size 12 (UK) now? What the happened to size 10? Of course now I'm hopping up and down alone in my bedroom like a manic rabbit at the idea of cheating my way into a size 12.
Although the jeans didn't really truly fit comfortably, I could visualize hints of my old body re-emerging. That deserves a whooooooot, I think.
There was just one tiny problem with the jeans: a dollar-sized rip located at the top of the trouser leg - in between the thigh and bum, so not really noticeable unless someone had been actively looking, which hahahaha. But, in all the excitement I ignored the rip and proceeded to wear the jeans, quite proudly, for the rest of the day.
As the day went on I noticed the rip had expanded. All that bending down to retrieve people and things from the floor had taken its toll on the rip. That, plus the fact the jeans didn't really fit that well and were having the life stretched out of them thread by thread.
Still, I did nothing. No way was I about to remove the only evidence that my old figure was making a comeback.
By the evening, the dollar-sized rip had grown and was roughly the size of a five dollar note. Not a good look for a mum running around town with two kids in tow. Unless you're Pam Anderson. And even then...
But I was lucky that day - I got away with no one witnessing the rip in my jeans. At least.. no one said anything..hem.. But now of course, the jeans are buggered. And no I will not sew them up because the last time I sewed something it ended up looking like the scary doll from Coraline.
I'm not sorry though. It was worth the rip, to have one final satisfying day with my old tight-fitting, tummy-trimming, thigh-slenderizing, butt-firming, hip-shrinking, waist-defying jeans.
RIP nice old jeans.