Yesterday I had to go to Denver for a client meeting. As the meeting wasn't until the late afternoon, I went to Denver early and did some Christmas shopping. I try to buy local whenever I can, but sometimes I can't find everything here in the valley (and I'm fine with that Mr. Mall Developer Who Wants to Invade Our Town) and I don't mind going on a little shopping excursion to the big city.
Since I'm going to see Andy Williams (I'll keep mentioning that ad nauseum until the big day gets here) and really only own cargo pants and fleece right now, I felt a few new clothing items were in order. Now, people don't exactly dress up to go to the shows in Branson. Yes, there are a few people who get decked out, but mostly you're out and about running around Branson all day and then you just pop into whatever theater show you're seeing in whatever you're wearing. I had a nice outfit to wear the last time we went and I never ended up wearing it. I went in jeans and fit right in.
So I wasn't looking for anything flashy to wear to the show, just maybe a new pair of trouser-style jeans and a nice top. Something other than cargo pants and fleece. Anything but cargo pants and fleece--my daily uniform.
After all was said and done when I returned home at 10pm last night, I estimate that I had tried on at least a hundred pairs of jeans. OK, that's probably an exaggeration, but I'm guessing I tried on at least 50 pairs in three different stores (Ann Taylor outlet, Old Navy, Kohl's).
It was depressing.
I've been working out.
Thought I was looking pretty good.
Nothing like the three-way mirror in a department store to dispel that myth.
There were so many styles to choose from, how I had so much trouble is beyond me. Personally, I think it all goes back to the whole "jeans conspiracy" that clothing manufacturers have created against women. I think they're in cahoots with the bathing suit industry, frankly.
Nothing fit. Crazy cuts. Huge in the waist, too small around my bee-hind and saddlebags. And skinny jeans? That fad can't go out fast enough for me.
While I'd like to blame it all on the manufacturers, I'm guessing a "few" extra pounds may be the culprit.
I've been on a mission to drop some weight before I see Andy. Who wants a chubby biggest fan? I don't think he wants a biggest fan in the literal sense. So each time I start to eat something that isn't a vegetable, I look at it and say: Is this _____________________ more important than Andy?
Here's how it has panned out so far:
Malted milk ball: yes
Halloween candy of any ilk: yes
I hope Andy never finds out he was less important than a malted milk ball. And it wasn't a very good one at that.
In the end, I do have a pair of new jeans--in a size I am not happy about, incidentally--and several new tops. When I stroll into the Moon River Theater, I will not be wearing cargo pants or fleece.
But I might have some malted milk balls in my purse.