new jeans

I taught a food class tonight after a terrible day.

I started the day with students who could have cared less about Shakespeare and the student teacher and myself, two trained bears were up in front like demented Elizabethean cheerleaders, trying to drum up conversation. After that abortive, petrified class, I lurched from hour to hour with bureacracy for school events. Finally got to the end of the day. I raced to the fish market, bought supplies and other food stuffs for my night class.

I tried, I was charming, deftly managind the velvet asparagus soup with mixed shellfish thermidor, the cream sauce, the cardamom scented mascarpone fruits, and the cunning yet unobtrusive merlot vinaigrette over mesclum. The class raved, I broke a ceramic spoon. They loved the sauces, I cleaned the whisk. It was fun, it brought me out of myself from crankiness, and I was no longer a demented cheerleader, I was cheerleader for "The Romantic Supper".


What about the jeans?

I didn't think the class would go, but it went, and in the fickle finger of fate way that the universe has, I also had plans to attend a trunk showing of clothing at my friend's.She said, just come on over after class! We will have wine and you can try on things. So, reeking of garlic, and hands stained with pomegranee juice, I drove on over, continuing my 12 hour day.
I am glad I did.

It has been a tough year, lubricated with my evenings spent with bad eating and wine to ease the pain. And,this ease has eased out my size. Mid life means all shifts to your middle.I am zaftig, I am eggplant shaped, and I don't think I deserve new clothes until I look like someone else.

But I don't. And I admire women of all sizes who look swelte, rich, groomed and glossy. What am I waiting for?

It was a kick at the food class teaching 5 older women how to make a romantic meal for their friend/husband/partner/ etc. etc. And then, I walked into my friend's home to a room full of women in my age range trying on clothes and urging each other on. I looked at their midriff, their thighs and realized, we all looked similar. Not alike, but not all 20 either, we had bodies which worked, did their job, and were different sizes. And, everyone who tried on something looked great.

So the jeans.

I am a snob about jeans, don't own a pair, figured they are for the proletariat, and haven't the butt for them. My daughter yes, but she looks good in a pillowcase, she is 20 and has a great butt. Pears,eggplants, figs, anything wider at the bottom than the top, that is me.

These instant fashion police and dressing room friends said,"try them on anyway."

DOn't look at the size,how do they fit? I felt fat, I felt wide, and round. But 100% of these classy, smart, beautiful women said, I looked great, to buy them and get them. I need a boost. I need a new bra! I need a new figure. Hey, two out of three ain't bad, and what did I know?

So I bought the jeans, trading my fee for the food class for a pair of jeans which all tell me make my butt look great.I get to have a pair of jeans in my closet which are designer. And, if I manage to have less Souave, Merlot, Riesling....the jeans will be even greater. But now I feel like I have my own Sisterhood of the Traveling Fancy Pants,and something "cool" in my closet. The Universe is now in balance.

And maybe I will wear them for my own romantic supper.