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Friday, May 16, 2008

I'm Not Hip

The style these days is for young people to wear hiphuggers. From what I’ve seen, these pants don’t just hug; they hang on for dear life. It’s not that I mind the lowcut styles. It’s just that when I see that much of a child’s behind, I have to fight the urge to puff it with a cloud of baby powder and slap a diaper on it.

Ever the hitchhiker on the fashion superhighway, I ventured into the local Hip Bones R Us to give the new style a try. Sure, I wore hiphuggers when I was a teenager, but that was two children and a chocolate laden post-divorce feeding frenzy ago. Maybe now I need something a little more forgiving. I don't want to give the impression that my underwear might spontaneously combust when I walk across a room.

I came out of the dressing room like an American Idol contestant that sang Happy Birthday to Simon in the key of X. When the saleslady cocks her head to one side and calls you Sweetie like you’re the last one left on the Atkins diet, you know something’s wrong. I was going to call my husband for support, but my cell phone was wedged under what I think used to be my hip bone. My appendix buzzed every time I missed a call.

The belly shirt I rolled on with the outfit did nothing to hide my personal information from random passers by. The janitor at the mall now knows I had two emergency C-Sections and an unfortunate run-in with a weed eater, and you can Mapquest my stretch marks on the Internet.

It seems to me it would be a good deal more flattering if the shirts were hip huggers and the trousers were belly pants. Then I could have an extra muffin for breakfast without tipping off everyone at the office as to how many poppy seeds were involved.

I’ve read that fashions are designed for size zero runway models who exist on soy shavings and bottled water and who have legs longer than a New York traffic jam. If so, I can see why these pants are all the rage. It's road rage.


Carolyn Erickson said...

Just this very evening I was practically lifting my daughter off the ground in an effort to pull those jeans up enough to cover what needs to be covered. LOL at the puff of baby powder. That's exactly how I would have said it if I were as brilliant as you!

I can't wait until the size-zero fashion models decide that concealed belly-buttons are hot.

jammons311 said...

I obviously was not on that shopping trip because I certainly would have remembered it. I can, however, envision the moment after trying to fit into some of the tops that they come out with these days.

colbymarshall said...

LOL- please don't slap a diaper on me. That said, I have too big of a boo-tay for a lot of these styles to work on me. Zero, shmero.

the Bag Lady said...

Loved this post!

Reminded me of when I had a bunch of teenage girls working for me in the kitchen at the ski hill. Finally had to make it a rule that they could not wear clothes that exposed their bountiful muffin-tops. Nobody wants to see that when they are eating...might put them off their feed! (and when the object of the game is to get them to eat...)

plaidearthworm said...

This post is one of my favorites of all time! I love the line about your appendix buzzing. In the wild and freewheeling seventies, I remember my mom wearing jeans so tight, she had to lie down and thread a wire hanger handle through the zipper just to get them on. Must have scarred me, because all I ask from a pair of jeans is to keep everything covered, and to keep my thighs from catching fire if I have to run, jog, or merely dash across the room.