Put On Your Mom Jeans

So I not only dragged my kids with me to buy clothes, but I subjected them to the horrors of fitting rooms. This was not their first time but it nonetheless cause Sophie to utter, "Mom, you are NOT fat!! Those jeans are totally going to fit you!!" even before I had my own pair off around my ankles. Good God. They smell my iminent frustration before I even utter one F-bomb..
Clearly I have uttered angry metaphors while struggling to squeeze my ass into the size I KNOW is not what I usually wear. I just hope that maybe--just this once--the clothing manufacturers (read:sweat-shop workers in Indonesia) might make a mistake and accidentally label my good ol' size 10's with a size 6. I don't care if that means those tiny little bitches who currently wear a ZERO (who the fuck wears a ZERO???!!! I came out of my mom a size 8, for Christ's sake..) will now be in a negative 4. I would buy 25 pairs of pants if the label inside read 2 or 3 sizes smaller than I know I really can fit my ass into. Is that whacked or what? It's just a number, but God dammit, it's a SMALLER one!!!
So I was at Old Navy, which has really let itself go, let me tell you. When did their fabrics start to feel like shitty burlap and the style looks like a cross between Goodwill and a Dress Barn clearance rack? I can't even sew a straight seam but I bet I could whip out a few shirts that resemble what they have hanging on their sparse racks using a Kotex pad and some fruit roll-ups. But back to my shopping...Their catchy new ad with the anorexic sixteen year-old Brazilian bitches intrigues me. I think, hey, Old Navy is a store I can shop at! So therefore, I can wear those jeans. Oh dear Molly, how very sad and mistaken you are..
So "Sweetheart" fit should be called "Camel-Toe FloodFooters". Not cute in any way or any rinse. "Flirt" should be renamed "Fuck You, You Fat Cow". My FAVORITE style had to be Diva which really lived up to it's name. I actually grabbed my real size, knowing the skinny jeans might run a tad snug. These jeans were denim tights without an ounce of spandex to ease them up my jiggly thighs. Now I had an incling I would not be flattered by my appearance in these..Genius!! I think Mischa Barton after a 3-day cocaine bender might have a tought time with these bitches. Who invented these??!! Anorexic hermaphrodites missing a rib who have 13 year-old boy bodies?!?
So I left, traumatized, jean-less, and frustrated with the collection of Mossimo bullshit denim from Target in my closet of shame. I will fully succumb if those two crazy British bitches tackle me on an episode of Oprah for the way I dress. I am a mom, I now live in suburbia..I drive a minivan but I recall when I used to feel sexy and cool. Why can't I have it all? It's like we go from shopping in stores where we have to dress like slutbags to attract the guys. Then we get the guys (fast-forward ten years) and suddenly we are offered nipple-high jeans with snappy casual polos and matching cardigans. Don't forget my lesbo-tronic comfy sneakers to aid my geriatric feet. Excuse me while I go chage my Oops, I Crapped My Pants....