Mom Jeans

The first time I saw this Saturday Night Live skit on rerun, I laughed. Of course I laughed. It was funny! Who wouldn't laugh? It wasn't until I was giving this parody some serious thought a little while later, that I came to a startling realization. I thought...



...aw, shoot. These are MY jeans. Dadgum.





You see, for the past few years, I have taken a little "vacation" from my skinnier, healthier self. While in this "state", I had not meant to wear "Mom Jeans". I didn't even know what those were. I was just wearing a jean that fit. And, that covered my, uh...stuff. But, apparently, while I was taking a break from my ability to wear a size 2 pant, somebody played an awful joke on me.


Somebody rewrote the fashion on jeans.


Somewhere along the line, the waistline on a good pair of jeans, has gotten A LOT lower.


As a reward for dropping a few pounds and several sizes, I am forced to buy these objects that are foreign to my body. They don't seem to want to cover my...stuff. As a reward for several months abstinence from sugar, and exercising my tushy off, I find that I have just exchanged my "Mom Jeans", for the...


"Mom Jig".

You know the one.

The one where you latch on with a death grip to your belt loops, then yank and shimmy your...stuff, back into your pants. You know the one, when after bending over, you are forced to do some reconnaissance of the unmentionables, then perform the "Jig" to put everything else back into place.


I am learning now, why the former, comfortable, appropriately fitting jeans, were attached to the special classification of Moms. Moms do not have the time, desire, nor number of arms required to be constantly yanking, shimmy-ing, and sashay-ing our...stuff, back into our clothing.


So, while I am happy to be somewhat smaller in my size...smaller...jeans, I am still adjusting to the constant need to be adjusting. It's a work in progress.


I do have to mention, however, that I appreciate the company I have in my misery. I am a big fan of the knowing, understanding glance, smile, and wink from other Moms, who have just been caught doing the "jig".


And so it begins. The race I didn't even know I was in. I had no idea I was in a race with fashion to see who could get "skinnier" faster. Apparently, I am losing. There is something already out there called "skinny jeans". So, I am not likely to catch up to an ever-shrinking fashion, that seems determined to make it more and more challenging to continue to fit ALL of one's junk, into their ever-shrinking trunks.


Sigh.


May the good guy win.

Fully-clothed.