Lately I have felt like I have little control over my life. And it's in the silliest of ways. I have a co-worker who lives about a mile from me, so we car pool to work together, taking turns driving. Which is awesome when it comes to saving money on gas. But, I tend to start forlornly out the window at the empty spot where my car belongs on days when she drives. It makes me feel more claustrophobic- if that makes any sense. So on the days I do have my car, I really want to go somewhere. Even if it's just to Target to walk around. Plus, it's still got that new car smell and I just plain LOVE driving my car!
So yesterday, I got in the car and a few minutes later I'm standing in The Buckle talking to a young girl.
And by young girl, I mean a girl basically the same age I was when I worked at The Buckle. (And then at Aeropostale).
Suddenly I decided I needed new jeans. It was totally an impulse buy, but there I was, in a fitting room, enjoying the feel of cool denim slide up over my hips. OK, so there was a little more tugging than sliding, but whatever.
I settled on a pair of BKE Stella Stretch jeans.
They are low rise with major fading on the thighs, and a really cute white stitching on the inside of the leg and the bottom hem. I didn't need them, but damn, they were cute!
Plus, the second contender jean selection was tight in the 28, so I would have had to buy the 29. UM, hello? No. I can't do it. Nope. Refuse. When I worked at The Buckle, I was a 24, maybe a 25.
Of course, that was 8 years ago. Before the office ass set in. Back when I worked on my feet, walking miles each day - at work and on campus.
So, then the girl did what the girl was supposed to do. She tried to sell me a shirt. No go. OK, I'm uber-picky about my tops. In that they are very boring. Black. White. Khaki. Occasionally some pink. And very rarely, black AND white. Oh yeah, I get crazy! I tend to like to wear cute shoes.
So I tell the girl, "No thanks, I'm too picky about tops." I think she took it as a challenge. And she proceeded to show me every shirt in the store.
"What about this?" She said, holding up a tee with a diamond-studded skull.
"Um, really, I kind of buy all my shirts from Banana Republic." I reply, my face scrunched up. "Oh, this one's cute." She said, as she pulled out a tank with a crocheted back.
"Actually, no crocheting, no lace, no rouching, no ruffles, or puffy sleeves, rhinestones or anything like that. I'm very simple." I say again, trying to convince her to stop.
"Oh, well back here, we keep our mommy jeans so these are mommy shirts, what about these?"
That was definitely not helping! "No." I force a smile, "Look, I'm almost 29, and I work with clients and I need to look professional- you know?"
"Oh yeah, I totally get that, I mean we're all like 23 here. So, I understand."
Um no, you don't. Give me my jeans so I can leave! [I obviously didn't say that, but I wanted to].
I remember being 23, working in the mall. It was a job. And for a while, I liked that job. But now, I have a career. And I really like my career. So I bought my jeans (about five minutes later after she tried to sell me shoes, accessories and sunglasses.)
Sans-bedazzled skull shirts. Thankyouverymuch.