Xanax Bought Me These Pants

I am the worst at clothes shopping. My wife referred to me (not at all lovingly) as quasimodo on Sunday.

As in: You still look like quasimodo in the mirror with one shoulder hiked up and a grimace.

She’s right though, even when I buy clothes online and try them on in my mirrorless bedroom, I do some sort of weird clothing-related hunching maneuver that is likely a physical manifestation of the way I feel inside when I try on clothes.

I have never in my life put something on and thought, yes. yes this fits like a glove. I am so excited to wear this. I’ve had clothing that fits beautifully standing up but which turns into a shambles sitting down. I’d had things look terrific from behind and a monstrosity in the front. I’ve had an enormous number of Clown Pants and Strangulation Shirts. You see, my shoulders are broad, my arms are assertive, and I have a nice rack (all the better to carry my problems with, and heft my child, and carry bulky things, and shrug off disasters) which makes many, many shirts ride up around my neck while simultaneously gripping my upper arms for dear life. I also have my grandmother’s belly which is to say I am perfectly normal until you sink below the belly button and then holy fuck what is that even and then normal again. I remember looking at the smooth, sudden roundness of her belly as a child and wondering how on earth that happened while leaving her perfectly average everywhere else. This ensures that dress pants that fit my belly often tent out like I’m a circus clown in a hula hoop and suspenders.

I’m hot stuff, you guys.

Now, I could go on about how I’ve spent the last year miserably under compensated for a promotion, which is to say not compensated at all (and I have lots to say about that), but I’ll stick with the fact that I can’t afford new pants, or nice pants that won’t fade, and I desperately need them because jesus, having a dad with cancer and a mother who has a husband with cancer has really done a number on my eating habits (pretty much all cake). I’ve been wearing two pairs of pants – one faded twill and one pair of jeans – for the last eight weeks. My clothing in no ways says, hey I’m a Director of Important Shit. It more says, hey, I work here, maybe, if work means come here every day and sit in that corner office hoping you won’t look at my pants.

It’s not good when you find yourself taking a day off every other week so that you only have to wear each pair twice. On the odd weeks, I sub in a questionable dress and skirt, neither of which I have seasonally appropriate shoes for. I have also taken to canceling meetings or showing up early to sit down first so that people don’t notice my pants problem.

And so, on Sunday, my wife announced we were buying new pants. There was a lot of moaning and grousing and general whining, all of which sounded generally like but nothing ever fits! I’m always BETWEEN and remember the Clown Pants?! But because I’m a big girl, I took a newly-acquired-because-I-am-not-handling-this xanex and you know what? I didn’t cry. I even found three things that mostly fit. At the first store.

This has never happened. There were no casualties. And even though my wife still called me quasimodo (thanks for that). I didn’t even try to hide or hold my laptop in front of me when my boss walked past today. Progress and pants, brought to you by anti-anxiety medication. I’ll take it. Literally.


7 Responses

  1. I should have brought you my failed ‘healthy cake’. (kidding. really.)
    I hate clothing shopping. I hate taking my daughter clothing shopping. It always ends up in the yelling and things getting thrown. Pretty sure we terrified some poor Old Navy employees into never, ever having children last time we were there. It was a damn good time.
    I did recently have a fabulous experience at J. Jill though and may never ever shop anywhere else ever again.
    Also, I’m with on you the whole no pants thing (not that I wear them that often, I’m a skirt girl), but I do not have the excuses you do. I’m just lazy and avoid the gym while eating cake. And ice cream. Which one cannot do at this stage of life without consequence as I’m discovering. I’m despairing of my belly ever being smaller than my boobs again.

    • I’ve almost decided I like being happy with cake more than unhappy without it. As long as I can stay alive. I suppose that’s the tipping point. I’m also converting to a skirts girl, it’s making a difference (and long live j.jill…now if only things were a teensy bit less expensive). Did I tell you about the turnip/carrot cupcakes I made a couple of years ago? Not okay. Not okay at. all.

      • Carrot cake is good. Hell, my carrot cake is healthy as all get out – carrots, applesauce instead of oil, whole wheat pastry flour…..but turnips? That’s just crazy pants.

  2. Omg! I have the same problem with circus tent pants. I am all belly and hardly any butt/thighs so what fits my waist doesn’t fit my legs. Having clothes that fit (reasonably) makes such a difference in my attitude in the morning. I feel you on the cake, too. Lately, if there is a baked good in sight, it’s in my hand. Stress sucks. I’m kind of jealous of your Xanax. Is that bad? To envy someone’s pharmaceuticals?

    • Dude, it’s like a miracle. I don’t take it often, but knowing I *can* makes some sort of weird psychological difference. I had to ask for it, which was a little humiliating, but since I don’t go through it quickly, it has all worked out. I’m a huge mindfulness and meditation fan (which has worked wonders on my stress) but sometimes a little nudge helps.

      Also, SERIOUSLY with the clown pants. Come on! One of the two recent pairs is giving me some concern. I’m afraid they look more like jockey pants since the thigh sides are so big. What woman did they make these for?!

  3. You’re a better woman than I. I loathe clothes shopping and Rebeca always knows that to force me to do so will result in much agony for us all. She usually placates me with a soft pretzel afterwards. That’s why we’re still married.

    So all of that to say…I feel you. Big time.

    What about a pic of those new pants?!

    • I can’t tell if the new pants are actually clown pants after all, so no pic but even if they are, they are far better than what I WAS wearing.

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