Fitting into the Right Size Jeans
It was that time of month on the social calendar. Time for the usual mating dance. I was out on a hot date in a new place where other yuppie couples canoodled over terribly overpriced glasses of cheap wine. He was cute and going on about his new job at the hospital. The candlelight hit his face perfectly. He was fanning his peacock feathers and I was attempting to make all the right mating gestures.
I wanted to get with him. But truth be told, there I was, trying hard not to let it show. The butterflies in my stomach were suffocating me to death.The thing is I couldn’t breath. I wanted to scream. I thought my eyes would pop out anytime now. And our sweet rom com moment would turn into a gore fest from a Sam Raimi movie.
Let’s trace back a couple of hours.
Nice low cut Tee on, neither revealing nor concealing much, check. Mascara in place, check. I was ready for a romantic night out. There was just one more piece for the perfect look: my newly bought pair of designer jeans. But that damn pair of jeans had some other plans. I just couldn’t get in.
No seriously, there was a lot at stake here. This was the all-important third date. I was on the threshold of crossing the physical barrier. As for the jeans, they were fine a month back when I bought them. Now I was upset because those damn pants didn’t fit. And my night would be ruined because of it. I was Alice in freaking fashion failure land.
I wasn’t about to throw in the towel and put on a long skirt, not just yet. I’d rather go out in my tighty whities then do that.
Any woman will tell you her wardrobe isn’t complete without a pair of good jeans.But she’ll also tell you there’s nothing more embarrassing than being in a trail room and asking the saleswoman for denims that are a size bigger. They seem to be making them all weird these days; only for a certain body type. What about those women who aren’t skinny? Or even those who aren’t pears or apples or any of those fruits that one categorizes women’s bodies into. What if I’m one big bowl of fruit salad, which pair do I get then?
By this time the battle was on. The jeans were staring at me from the corner of the closet but I was motivated. And I had my emergency plan ready to go. I tried various things. 5 quick short breaths, a suck of the gut and there they were, up my waist. It was a tough maneuver, but once they were up the dangerous thighs and butt arena,all that remained was for them to be buttoned.
Finally I won the battle, or so I thought. Not being able to breath during my date was a small price to pay for perfectly fitting jeans. Seriously at one point I thought my perfect date would turn into an episode of ER. So I took matters into my own hands and excused my self. I shot off to the ladies room and popped open the first button. The colour returned to my face. I took a break and let my lungs fill up.Once I had enough air just like an experienced underwater diver I went back to my table. Me one, pants nil. It was totally worth it.
Honestly, all those technological advancements, what good are they? Until technology catches up to create a material that basically wraps around us perfectly we’ll have to make do with other methods.
This is a common problem for girls like me, the normal ones, the fruit salads. Considering that the new normal is size zero and the erstwhile normal is now overweight, here’s some advice from a girl who was formally considered size normal. A helping stone to all those other “normal” girls like me.
When disaster strikes here’s what you can do:
The one leg at a time approach.Moisturize that leg and slip it in, do the same for the other one. One by one is the trick. If the moisturizing cream doesn’t work, use olive oil. And remember to stay calm all through. Any panic button hit can lead to wasted effort and potential disaster.
The suck in your gut approach. Try this approach if your problem area is above the waist.As I’ve mentioned before, take quick short yogic breathes that suck in your abdominal muscle to the fullest. Build up to the fifth breath and pull up those pants in one quick easy motion and hope for the best. One thing yoga teaches you is to have no expectations. Detach and concentrate. Warning: If you have a cold remember those short breaths might lead to mucous flying all around. If you are feeling adventurous, try approach one and two together.
The sit on the ground and slowly crawl into it approach. Now this is a more complex maneuver. Lie horizontal on the ground, put both legs in and slowly but steadily crawl in. You could even roll your way in those pants. Just make sure you have enough control over your motor skills not to turn into a rolling mess. Watch some of those creepy snake shows on Animal Planet for additional tips.
The tape your extra lypo or wear a belt inside approach.This is a bit of a drastic measure but highly effective. There’s no better remedy for lard than duct tape. And if you have one of those tummy belts you bought during a more naïve time, thinking they’d be effective, this is the right time to make good use of it. You’ve got to survive five hours max across the table from him. Make sure you come back to your place after the meal, so you can quickly slip out of your gut and lypo sucking contraptions. Don’t ever let him catch you with it.
The visit to the sauna 3 hours before approach.It’s better to be prepared. This one takes foresight. But you’ll sweat the excess off and feel slimmer with minimum effort. Slip in a cocktail with a miniature umbrella and pretend you are on a tropical island holidaying. You’ll get the right buzz and get jumpstarted for the evening. But just one cocktail not more.
The mental visualiziation approach. Here’s the ‘Secret;’ before trying them on visualize that you are skinny enough to fit into it. Ah! the power of instant manifestation. There’s no tool more powerful than the mind, no matter how delusional.
My date finally ended with him having to take off on an emergency call. That night the final score was: Jeans ten and me love, or loveless rather. So I kept those pants on and soon they became like my second skin. Back home, I unbuttoned my belt and had my bittersweet butterscotch ice cream. The next best thing to a rip-roaring orgasm.