I've been very busy writing personal e-mails today. Sometimes you just need to take that time out to check in with your family... and if it's your company's time, oh well, it's not like you can pick the times your family may need a word, can you? Family first, always. So sorry, dear boss, that I have not done a stitch of work since 12pm (and not all that much before 12pm either), but cultivating good relationships is important to me; it's what makes me the compassionate person that I am.... and sod it, it's Friday anyway and nobody works on Fridays!
In one of my e-mails to Shoes' sister Black Velvet, I was lamenting the fact that I can't find a decent fitting pair of jeans in this country. Now, jeans are supposed to be the staples of one's wardrobe. One should have light jeans, dark jeans, plain jeans, embroidered jeans, stonewashed jeans, jeans with stripes, jeans with rips or material patches, blue jeans, black jeans and, if you're Liz Hurley or have a figure anything like hers, white jeans (NB If you are not Liz Hurley or you do not have a figure anything like hers, avoid white jeans completely - this is not optional!).
I have always had enormous problems finding jeans that fit me properly. I am rather short and have a classic hour glass shape with just a hint of pear in the direction of the thighs, but my womanly hips are my most embattled body part, ie that is the first place I put on on weight. In all other aspects I am an easy to find UK size 10 - torso and crotch length, waist span (admittedly not a factor in hipster jeans) and buttocks width. Size 10 fits me like a glove. Except.For.The.Protruding.Hips.
If I am at my best physically, which I haven't been for at least a year now, I can slither into a size 10 and it looks fabulous. However, if I'm not, if I have just one slice of pizza too many, my hips expand by the width of a removal truck, and they snicker at me from their place of comfort hanging over the sides of my jeans. So, bitterly ignoring their evil cackling, I make my way over to the size 12s and resignedly wriggle my unbending loins into them. And of course, my hips snuggle down contentedly and drift off to a peaceful slumber. There's even room for a couple of fingers in the waistband, in case I want to hang my thumbs on the edge of my jeans to affect an unruffled, so slick right now look. However, muffled wails come through the thick fabric from the direction of my ass, which is now drowning in baggy folds, and when I look down I find the crotch of the jeans hanging almost to my knees. The thighs are rumpled, and when I sit down I look distinctly as if I am sporting an undercover penis.
I've concluded that what I need is a size 11. Either that, or I need to pay through my ass for a pair of Rock and Republic jeans, or some other high profile brand that I can get custom tailored to fit like a glove, no matter how much of an off day my hips might be having. For someone who is as deep in debt as I, paying £80 - £100 for a decent pair of jeans is simply not an option. And, from the state of my current collection, neither are £5 jeans from the market.
And so I live for the day in January when I go back to SA for a visit, and I can fling myself upon the wonder that is Truworths, they of the world's most perfectly fitting jeans, and tear up my hopefully by then not maxed out credit card. Til that day, I will continue to send my hips to coventry and wait in vain for that moment where I might stumble across That Perfect Pair in the bargain bins.
In one of my e-mails to Shoes' sister Black Velvet, I was lamenting the fact that I can't find a decent fitting pair of jeans in this country. Now, jeans are supposed to be the staples of one's wardrobe. One should have light jeans, dark jeans, plain jeans, embroidered jeans, stonewashed jeans, jeans with stripes, jeans with rips or material patches, blue jeans, black jeans and, if you're Liz Hurley or have a figure anything like hers, white jeans (NB If you are not Liz Hurley or you do not have a figure anything like hers, avoid white jeans completely - this is not optional!).I have always had enormous problems finding jeans that fit me properly. I am rather short and have a classic hour glass shape with just a hint of pear in the direction of the thighs, but my womanly hips are my most embattled body part, ie that is the first place I put on on weight. In all other aspects I am an easy to find UK size 10 - torso and crotch length, waist span (admittedly not a factor in hipster jeans) and buttocks width. Size 10 fits me like a glove. Except.For.The.Protruding.Hips.
If I am at my best physically, which I haven't been for at least a year now, I can slither into a size 10 and it looks fabulous. However, if I'm not, if I have just one slice of pizza too many, my hips expand by the width of a removal truck, and they snicker at me from their place of comfort hanging over the sides of my jeans. So, bitterly ignoring their evil cackling, I make my way over to the size 12s and resignedly wriggle my unbending loins into them. And of course, my hips snuggle down contentedly and drift off to a peaceful slumber. There's even room for a couple of fingers in the waistband, in case I want to hang my thumbs on the edge of my jeans to affect an unruffled, so slick right now look. However, muffled wails come through the thick fabric from the direction of my ass, which is now drowning in baggy folds, and when I look down I find the crotch of the jeans hanging almost to my knees. The thighs are rumpled, and when I sit down I look distinctly as if I am sporting an undercover penis.
I've concluded that what I need is a size 11. Either that, or I need to pay through my ass for a pair of Rock and Republic jeans, or some other high profile brand that I can get custom tailored to fit like a glove, no matter how much of an off day my hips might be having. For someone who is as deep in debt as I, paying £80 - £100 for a decent pair of jeans is simply not an option. And, from the state of my current collection, neither are £5 jeans from the market.
And so I live for the day in January when I go back to SA for a visit, and I can fling myself upon the wonder that is Truworths, they of the world's most perfectly fitting jeans, and tear up my hopefully by then not maxed out credit card. Til that day, I will continue to send my hips to coventry and wait in vain for that moment where I might stumble across That Perfect Pair in the bargain bins.
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