Jean Envy

They mock me from the closet…from the low shelf, hidden under an old pair of flip-flops and a sweater that’s missing a button.

The pair of Miss Me jeans with the bespangled back pockets (that is totally a word).

I bought them a few months ago, in a fit of enthusiasm that I had scored an awesome deal and they fit.

Having legs that are just about one inch shy of being regular length, I get giddy when I find a pair of LONG jeans that will fit me and not look like cropped pants.

Not that those aren’t cute.

But the Miss Me jeans?

They are awesome.

And yet, they remain with tags, on that low shelf.

I have stolen their chance at glory…stolen their chance to hug the slight curves of a sorority girl or grace the backside of rodeo queen.

What was I thinking?

Tags remain attached, giving slight hope that a sensible return-for-store-credit might be the solution.

And yet…

I want them.

I want to pull them on and admire the blingy back pockets that only draw attention to that flattened place where I sit and write.

I want to wear them to my favorite haunts…the grocery store, Target or the gas station.

I want to sparkle…just a bit.

Isn’t that OK? Does it really matter how silly a middle-aged woman may look with sparkles on her backside?

I took it to the Twitter a few weeks ago…threw it out there…

When is a woman too old for bling on her back pockets?

There was plenty of advice, including this:
“If she has to ask, she probably already knows the answer.”

Damn Twitter.

I want to sparkle a bit longer.

I want to stay up late and run with scissors and eat my ice cream first.

To say no, to take a chance, to dream big and just be alive.

With sparkles on my ass.

…and still, they mock me from the closet.

What am I afraid of? Does it really matter that I am too old to sparkle?

My time to sparkle may be now.

And it may just start with a fabulous pair of jeans.

25 Years to Life

He says I still have that new bride smell.

That man I exchanged “I do’s” with twenty-five years ago this week…the man I promised to love and to cherish, to honor and cook for, and to continue to laugh at his potty humor until death do us part.



In that amount of time, people tend to hoard accumulate things. Things that may or may not have a real use later on down the road, yet they stay on the shelf, tucked away for later. Maybe these things were actually used for years, used to the point that even the donation truck might leave them on the side of the road.

We have things like that.

  1. A kitchen trashcan in the most beautiful 80s shade of baby blue. While it has served a long and useful life of 25 years, the cracks extend a wee bit further down the side each week.
  2. The hamper for our dirty clothes that was purchased on a romantic shopping trip to Cost Plus, during which time we declared, “Let’s join our dirty clothes!” and it still serves dutifully. Unfortunately, there are no cracks and I think this one may outlast us all.
  3. A toaster oven, which was lovingly gifted to us on our wedding day by a wedding guest who shall remain nameless (because I can’t remember). Hubs feels that the toaster oven is the be-all-end-all of kitchen appliances. I feel like it looks like a cross between R2D2 and SpongeBob SquarePants, and have relegated it to the cupboard.
  4. Matching set of bamboo beach mats, purchased on our first trip to Hawaii so many years ago. While they seemed like a great idea, nobody told us about the crazy pattern the bamboo leaves on your exposed skin. Ouch. They have resided in the attic ever since, never to see sand again.
  5. Blown-glass drink stirrers, with various tropical birds perched on the end. These were purchased on our honeymoon in Mexico, and we envisioned raging parties hosted at our tiny apartment where we would pass out drink stirrers to our happy guests. I am still trying to figure out exactly what type of drink requires stirring.
  6. A humongous counter-top microwave oven from the 80s, the size of which rivals a mini-Cooper. After occupying half of the entire kitchen counter-top for years, we moved to our current home which has a built-in microwave. Sixteen years ago. The intended recipient of the microwave (college kid) claims that his roommate has one. I fear I will one day be buried in it.
  7. A VCR. I cannot even imagine why we still have this. For you young ones, this is the prehistoric version of the modern-day DVD player.
  8. We still have the very first can opener we purchased, back when opening a can meant, “Dinner is served!”. I am pretty sure we are all current on our tetanus shots.
  9. The fire extinguisher that hangs in our garage, in that manly section referred to as the “Home Safety Center” by hubs. I fear that when I actually need a fire extinguisher, only glitter and dust will come out of the nozzle.
  10. A large paper-mache parrot, who has been a prized possession since our honeymoon in Mexico. We brought him home on the airplane back in the days when you could carry-on strange objects that could be used to pummel someone and take over the plane. Now he would be subject to a body-cavity search.


Sentimental old fools, or hoarders?

What do you still have after all these years?


Trifecta at the Mall

There was a time when I loved the mall. Really loved it.

The problem is, this particular time in my life was about thirty years ago.

The mall has changed.

My daughter needed a few things last weekend: a pair of jeans, a birthday present for a friend, and a pair of shoes. Simple enough, I thought…we’ll just hit the mall.

First stop?


Where hard-earned money goes to die.

There are more types of makeup, brushes and facial cleansers in this store than there are ugly polyester pants at Sears. Products I’ve never even heard of before.

Clearly I am not their target market, with my Maybelline mascara and Wet and Wild concealer. The salesperson who dared to come up behind me and ask, “Have you ever used the BeneTint before?” was visibly shaken when I turned around and displayed my late-forties, barely-made-up face. She quickly made a beeline for the trophy wife who just entered the store.

Next stop?

Abercrombie & Fitch

Or my new name for it, Pornography & Fitch.

There are two Abercrombie stores at our mall: the kid one, and the adult one. This was one of the only times I have set foot into the adult store, and I was immediately attacked with display ad images I wanted to cover with my coat.

The worst offender was a full-sized perfume ad that showed a completely naked dude from the side (all the way down to his knees) against the back of a topless chick in the process of pulling off her jeans. Seriously, is the perfume that crappy that they need the porn to sell it? If I had those images on my computer, they would be considered porn. But life-sized in a store that caters to the 13 – 22 year old crowd, it’s fine. I am no prude by any means, but it really bothered me that my daughter would see that and think it was OK.

And don’t get me started on the lace shorts that looked suspiciously like underwear, but were being marketed as shorts. Um, no.

And for our third stop?


Also known as Life’s a Beach Every Stinkin’ Day of the Year in Here.

I’ve become a semi-regular at Hollister these past two years, now that my daughter is old enough to wear their clothes. I pretend to look at the cute sweaters and tanks, but it’s quite obvious to the staff I am only there to provide the credit card once the cute clothes are chosen.

I try and fade into the background, but one time this tactic resulted in me being squirted with that hideous fragrance they spray on the clothes. Yes, they spray it directly onto the clothes…I’ve seen them. The vibe in Hollister is so beachy I’m tempted to bring my towel and take a nap next time we shop.

I am never asked if I’m finding everything OK in Hollister because it’s painfully obvious I’m not the one doing the finding.

And their friendly greeting when you come in, “Hey, how’s it goin’?” is painful to respond to. I decided next time I will say, “Well, it’s goin’ pretty good except for that bunion I just had removed and the unexplained heartburn and gas I’ve been experiencing.”


I suppose the proper payback would be to drag my daughter to Chicos? Pretty sure they don’t have any soft porn ad campaigns.