So this isn’t the first impulse purchase I’ve ever made, but it will be the first one I share with you on the blog. Does anybody out there juice? I watched Fat, Sick and Nearly Dead the other week on Hulu and almost went vegan, but then didn’t because there were Oreos. Except, Oreos are vegan. Below is my very mechanically correct drawing of my juicer, the Hamilton Beach Big Mouth Juice Extractor. *insert evil laugh of impending healthiness*
I am in the midst of a group project along with two classmates. The goal, to create a 30-second YouTube video with essentially no parameters. When my professor suggested a commercial as a simple option, I immediately knew that I would have to dream up some heinously amazing product and its accompanying infomercial. Now, don’t flip your lid. I’m not going to let the cat out of the bag yet. I will tell you that though, there is a clue in the text of this post. However, I did find this amazing video of the top 10 worst infomercials OF ALL TIME. I’m really not sure why UroGolf isn’t number one…question mark?
“Just say no.” I had heard it so many times in reference to drugs, but never to mom jeans. I was having the similar symptoms to a first great high…no, I don’t know what that’s like, what are you talking about? I put them on for my first day of spring quarter, excited like a Kindergartner on their first day of school. The best part, no one would ever know. I pulled my shirt down over the expansive inseam.
I made it through class without a hitch, the tummy-slimming panel performing well. When I got home I decided to snap a selfie and send the pic to my best friend from high school. I thought at least one other soul should enjoy my secret. She guffawed as best she could via text message. But then, I felt the first ounce of shame in my little secret. What was I doing wearing mom jeans at 23?!
I had a small epiphany right then and there. I needed to do better by myself and my body. So here I am, starting to blog about my journey to be more fit. And then, I had a crazy idea. I’d train to run the Rock ‘N Roll Half Marathon in November. Frankly, I’m not sure if this will happen. But you’ll here about the journey nonetheless. So maybe mom jeans don’t look good on anyone, but it seems they contain some sort of inspirational magic. Sisterhood of the Traveling Mom Jeans, or whatever…
I went to Kohl’s the other day with the intention of getting a new pair of jeans. What typically happens is that I buy a pair and then wear them to shreds, leaving the unmentionable area so close to tearing I fear wearing them in public. An apt description of my current situation, it was time to trade up. When I made it to the ladies’ section I perused my way around the juniors so-tight-they-look-painted-on numbers, past the Levi’s, to a friendly looking section with a sign that mentioned one of the many magical words in the female vocabulary, “slimming. ”
These beauties were by Gloria Vanderbilt, who may I remind you is a near nonagenarian, mother to Anderson Cooper and heir to a glorious fortune. My mom jean radar was ringing, but I loved it all the same. I grabbed two pairs of Levi’s to balance out the high-waisted situation and headed to the fitting room. I slipped first into the Levi’s, dark, low on the waist, my legs looked thinner but my muffin top spilled out over the edges of the pants. The second pair wouldn’t even go past my thighs. I threw them frustrated to the floor and heaved a sigh of relief and dread as I picked up Gloria’s latest design. They pulled smoothly over my curvy figure and buttoned easily…ABOVE MY BELLY BUTTON.
I pulled my blouse to cover the mom-age and then turned around to catch myself in the mirror. Wow, I thought, I actually look pretty dang good. i stayed in the fitting room for another long 10 minutes debating whether or not to cross the line, until my boyfriend texted me to tell me he was ready with his purchases at the front.
I walked to the front of the store and jumped in line behind him, mom jeans in tow. “I can’t believe I’m about to do this,” I muttered under my breath. “Words?” James said. “No, nothing,” I replied. I sulked out of the store glad that Kohl’s settled on opaque shopping bags to cover my illicit purchase.