One afternoon this off-season my husband declared he'd had enough. Nearly ten years of marriage and he just couldn't take it anymore. His exact words were
Will you please pull your pants up!?!
I just smiled at him and moved on, because I was doing all I could.
I had my belt on for crying out loud.
Later, I was reclining on the couch, reading the paper and I felt someone staring at me. I looked up to see my sweet man, leering over me, swinging an old phone charger cord. I was pretty sure he wasn't getting ready to strangle me, but I relaxed a little when he said
Stand up, I'm gonna measure you.
Well, sure you are honey. I'm sure that's exactly what Vera Wang uses in a pinch.
He "measured" my waist, my hips, my legs, my knees and my bust. The last one was purely for him.
After calculating all of his very precise measurements and lots of deep sighing he came to a startling realization.
I was missing six inches in the booty department.
Most jeans have a difference of approximately 10 inches between the waist and the largest part of the hips.
I have four.
Which totally explains the parking lot incident.
Ready for this one? I was taking all three gals in for groceries and knew I needed a cart. So I had a baby on each hip and Lainey holding my back jean pocket.
It was a fool-proof plan.
Until she tripped.
And pulled them down.
Which wouldn't have been a big deal except my panties went with them.
And I couldn't pull them up, because of said baby in each arm.
It's at this point that I would like to sincerely apologize to the mama walking behind us. Thank you for giggling quietly. Forgive me for mooning you. And your child. I hope you shielded her eyes from the glare. Here's hoping we never meet again. Ever.
When my hubby gets something in his head, he doesn't relax until he knows everything about the subject. He researched inseams, pocket placement, proper measurement and things I didn't even know mattered. For a few days, I would find random pairs of pants lying on the bathroom floor where he had measured them.
And clearly forgotten to put them away.
I then knew he was completely serious when he mentioned a four letter word.
For the record, in the twins entire first year of life we had been to the mall as a family exactly zero times.
So off we went. First stop, Chik-fil-A. Second stop, Macy's.
I tried on more jeans than I care to mention, but miracle upon miracles, there was a certain brand that FIT. I nearly shouted with joy. Until I saw the price tag. And then I teared up.
Those stinkin' dressing rooms can be such an emotional roller coaster.
But, what I didn't realize was this was purely research. My man had a plan.
It's called ebay.
So no more saggy bottom drawers for this mama. I am now the proud owner of three pairs of proper fitting jeans.
But I still wear a belt.
One can never be too careful.