That Old Pair Of Jeans

I feel like generally, I can take on most of what life throws at me. I can work with difficult people, I am capable of handling a tough breakup, I can even move to a country where I don’t speak a word of the language. But if there is one thing I can not handle, it’s shopping for jeans. That’s why the last time I bought a pair was over two years ago. But since my favorite blue, smart/casual pair have recently, and very abruptly split in three places, I can’t put it off any longer.

Putting myself in my strongest positive mental attitude, I drove to the jeans factory outlet in Germany, where they have the biggest range of sizes and shapes I know, with my mother reluctantly by my side. It was kind of her to come for moral (and financial) support. She had however already pointed out that she was a bit scared as I can be… “difficult” when it comes to jeans, so we both knew this was one of those days that would test our relationship.

As predicted, entering the warehouse shop was traumatic. Here I am, faced with a sea of blue jeans, with no kind of indication of what shape the jeans were, not even if they were for men or women (I spent about 20 minutes trying on men’s before the woman bloody told me); it felt like diving into the ocean in search of that one drop of water that is just right.

After trying on the millionth pair, frustration building at each failed one, all I wanted to do was have a tantrum, throw them all in a pile and set them alight. I couldn’t help feel a tad over dramatic as I thought “surely child birth can’t be this painful”.