March 4, 2012

My Body Double (amazing likeness)

“I’m not bringing my car, so I can’t bring my magical tickle trunk this time.” I hear the sigh in Alanna’s voice. “Guess I can only bring one bag this trip.” My best friend of 34 years tells me as she gets ready to visit from Vancouver Island.

Alanna is known for her extensive collection of clothes and stunning shoes. I felt a tad deflated as one of my favourite things to do is walk around in her 6 inch leather Prada sling backs, multi-patterned Lamb pumps or Chinese laundry wedge sandals. It was much easier to parade through my one bed room carpeted apartment instead of my family home where I live now, with the hard wood floor and stairs. Still, I grab onto the railing dressed in my bathrobe and march down to the living room as if I just woke up from a coma and am learning to walk again. Alanna tells me she is willing her entire shoe collection to me when she dies. I have a vision of myself at 86 years old insisting on wearing a pair thigh high black leather boots to dinner in the assisted living residence where I live.

This visit though, I only find a pair of Guess jeans of her’s to try on. And they fit perfectly. So perfect that I instantly wanted my own pair.

“Do you mind if I get them in a different colour?” I ask.

“Of course. Make sure to get them a little tight though. They stretch out a lot.”

Searching the internet, I told her I’d try to get them in distressed black. I’m okay if my jeans are upset, just as long as I’m not.

I have been battling with my peri menopause paunch for a year now. None of my jeans or pants fit as they use to. I haven’t gone up a size, which would have been easier as all I would need to do is buy larger pants. Instead, everything fits except the snug waistband around my developing muffin top. Whatever the reason for this body change, it’s an even better way to justify my incessant quest for the perfect jean.

So, when I happened to find myself in Pacific Centre mall at lunch this week (amazing since I don’t work downtown), I decided there was no harm in at least taking a gander in the Guess store. At first I thought I’d just look around and then leave when none of the salespeople helped me, but a gorgeous young woman, with her own perfect pair of guess jeans in yellow, came right up and found four pairs of the same jeans in slightly different washes. Without my reading glasses, I could only get a blurred vision of the price of each. I decided I’d take a closer look if I found something.

I tried on the black pair first and walked out of the change room.

“Oh, those look great on you.” Another sales person tells me.

“Yeah, but their a little tight around the waist.”

“Oh, they’ll stretch, so it’s good to get them a little tight.”

I try on another pair, this time in a washed out denim. Nice, but I want something a littler dressier.

Finally, I grab the deep blue pair. As I try to focus in on the tag attached to the waistband, I notice the word Swarovski. Doing them up, I realize that the button has a Swarovski crystal in the middle of it to match the trademark Guess triangle on the back pocket. A little blingy for me, but I’ll try them on – just for fun.

I walk out to view my whole self in front of the 3 way mirror. Looks good. I bend my knees and then rise. Still looks good. I slip an index finger around the waist. Good fit.

I get my glasses out to take in the cold stark reality of the price tag. Oh shit. More than I would have ever spent on a pair of jeans to date. I sigh and wonder when the bar started getting higher and higher on what I would pay for jeans.

I walk around again. Then try on a less expensive pair. Finally try the same pair on again.

My sales person comes back. “These fit a lot better, and of course, their the most expensive.” I say to her.

She smiles. “Yes, well, they both look good on you.”

“Yeah, but these are way more comfortable.” I wait for my justification to be reinforced. Surprisingly, she lets me stew about it myself, offering no gentle pushes towards the pricier pair.

I cringe, as I walk out with the pile of jeans.

“Did you find something?” I place the chi-chi-pooh-pooh pair on the counter.

“Yeah, I did.” Whip out my clear VISA card before I change my mind.

For God sake’s I’m pushing 50. Someone sub-in as my Mum and reign in my Swarovski crystal ass in. It still doesn’t stop me from walking out carrying my large bag with the trendy, sexy half-dressed couple advertised on it.

I’ll deal with myself later.

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