“I don’t know Mom, I’m not sure I can pull it off,” I say as I enter the dressing room of Gap, a pile of clothes I would not have chosen a year ago stacked high in my hands, wrestling with the lock intended to keep intruders out in moments of bareness.
“Actually, I saw on TV and was reading the other day that any size can pull off white pants,” she said, her voice muffled through the thick door as I tucked the white pant option mid-pile, thinking that would be an appropriate time to try them. That way, there is a chance something more hideous and more fabulous will show up first, making it a more neutral ground to attempt the white pant trial in more than a decade.
I held my breath as I tugged them over my hips, doing the “if my calf can and quad can make it in we’re three-quarters of the way there” trick. Finding the material soft and stretchy, I fastened the steel button with minimal sucking in of the post-baby belly and prepared to my open my eyes to what the mirror may reveal.
And there she was. The gal in the white pants. Size
Feeling brave enough to face my second toughest critic, I gently pushed open the door and braced for Mom’s reaction. Glancing over her owl-like readers, she remained stoic, and then her eyebrows raised just enough to almost count as a look of approval. I’m not sure what words came next, but at that moment I knew the jeans were going home with me.
And that’s how I brought a little pep into my step, size XX and all. Which was a great relief, because I just had to make that dreaded “I’m getting closer to weaning and what the heck is happening to my boobs” trip to Nordstrom’s lingerie department hours before. Not good. The least I could do to make up for this time before potential pectoral improvement is bring my look up-to-date, right?
So, like Kanye says, I'm "feelin' pretty fly for a white girl."
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