On Tuesday me, my sister-in-law, and my sister-in-law-to-be checked out a fabulous consignment shop. Racks and racks of gently used items, sold at 70% off the original price.
There is the jean section, was a beautiful pair of Banana Republic jeans. Classic boot cut. The perfect size. Very well made. I have worn them everyday since I bought them!
Second Hand Coat
Ruth Stone
I feel
in her pockets; she wore nice cotton gloves,
kept a handkerchief box, washed her undies,
ate at the Holiday Inn, had a basement freezer,
belonged to a bridge club.
I think when I wake in the morning
that I have turned into her.
She hangs in the hall downstairs,
a shadow with pulled threads.
I slip her over my arms, skin of a matron.
Where are you? I say to myself, to the orphaned body,
and her coat says,
Get your purse, have you got your keys?
Why am I celebrating these jeans? Once previously worn? I'll tell you:
Once upon a time I had a beautiful pair of GAP jeans. They fit wonderfully. Perfectly length, perfect color, perfect cut. This was before the "stretch" jean took hold of everything in sight. Remember that time? All you could find was "stretch jeans"? They were very well made. For 2 years they were my best friend. Made me feel special, and kept my secret that I had no butt. Summer of 2005 the zipper broke. I mean it split in two. They was no way to fix them.
For 5 and a half years I have searched for a well fitting jean. (Minus the 3 times I was pregnant.)
So these jeans mean a lot. I love them. And they love me, and tell me that I am special, and that my bum will be alright.
1 comment:
whooot whoot Hot mama jeans!
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