Today I went on a mission in search of that ever so elusive "Perfect Jean". I have thought many times that I have found "The One" only to realise in the cold harsh light of reality that my legs don't look slimline and fabulous and yet again I have been tricked by some cruel twist of unnatural store lighting and mirror trickery. I am short. I have (sigh) hockey player legs (former husband's words, not mine) that actually can blimmin well help me stand on a surf board many times over the first time I ever tried - that's what solid thighs are capable of. But sadly this unfortunate physical combination do not make for a happy end to my Perfect Jeans Story. Its not all that bad. I can look ok in jeans with a 12inch heel that elongate my leg. But they're bloody hard to walk in. Especially after a couple of wines. I just suck it up thinking "looking this fabulous and, well, elongated, must come at a price, and walking comfortably for more than 100 metres is so over rated".
So today I drive across town in search of a different size that I had found at another shop. Aside; if it was for a smaller size I would have said "so I drove across town as I needed the much smaller size in that jean". And once I found a carpark, and the shop, and the jeans, it was all a bit deflating as I didn't look fabulous and no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't make them work.
"These simply are NOT the Perfect Jeans" I thought, rationalising all the things that were wrong with them. In fact when I tried the potential Perfect Jeans on in a different colour, I had the uneasy feeling that I already had a pair of these in my wardrobe.
Then the realisation. It wasn't the jeans that weren't perfect.
It was me.