There were two things that I wanted to be as a high school freshman: a Varsity cheerleader, and the lead in the school play. As a quiet, mousy, afraid-to-even-raise-her-hand-in-class kind of kid, these seemed like totally normal things to want. I was too shy to ask a question during English class, but getting up in front of everyone during a basketball game and jumping around in a short skirt? That sounds GREAT! Sign me up. There was a guy I liked on the basketball team.
I mean, of course there were OTHER reasons I wanted to be a cheerleader - because it's a SPORT. And a healthy extracurricular. And a great opportunity to build life-long friendships with my other cheer... mates? Cheermates? Is that a word? Cheer friends?
Whatever. It was mostly about the guy. And everyone knows cheerleaders are hot.
So I dragged my friend to try-outs with me - you know, because I was too afraid to go alone - and together we learned all of the basic chants, stunts, cheers, I think there was a dance involved? The only thing I can remember is thinking how they made everything look so much easier in "Bring It On". I couldn't even do a cartwheel, let alone the front handspring-stepout, roundoff back handspring-stepout I had planned to blow everyone away. You know, if I practiced enough. How hard could it be? It's just, jumping around. On your hands.
I did the splits for my "stunt" portion during try-outs. That was one of the things - you had to do a "stunt": a cartwheel, a roundoff, a handspring, you could even do a forward roll if you weren't coordinated enough to do anything else. Which I wasn't. But I chose to do the splits, because I decided that a forward roll might be too dangerous for someone inexperienced like myself.
Also I thought the splits would be more impressive. Which they would have been - had I actually done them, instead of whatever I did. Because what I did was slide down about halfway to the ground, until my knees started to bend and my legs made this triangle shape with the floor, and I was like "Ta-da!"
So, I went shopping today. And I walked into this little store called The Buckle. Or is it just Buckle? I don't know - but you know which store I'm talking about, right? It's supposed to be this very boho-trendy/Coachella fashion/"I paid way too much for this t-shirt" kind of vibe-y store. (I know, because I've paid way too much for a t-shirt here before. )
But I was in the mall, I'd had my Starbucks, and I was feeling pretty good. (Plus I've been saying for the last, like, week and a half that "I reaaaaally want some new clothes for summer". There is no reasonable explanation for this. It's not like the only thing I have in my closet are clothes made of wool and fur and winter-y things.. But apparently all of the t-shirts and shorts that I have in my closet from last year are, like, sooo 2016.)
I know. I'm the worst. Some people collect dolls, some people eat trash, my addiction is that I buy a lot of clothes. We all have our things.
You should know something about me: I am a hoarder.
Well, okay, no I'm not. But I collect pants. Not so much in a "collection" sort of way, but more so in a "I can't get rid of these" sort of way. Because some day I might wear them, even though they've been in my closet for two years and I haven't worn them yet. But, like, I MIGHT. Ya know?
It's gotten to the point where I have to squish everything down just to get the dresser drawer closed. I'm like The Little Mermaid with her thing-a-ma-bobs in the cavern. I've got skinny jeans, flair jeans, jeans that are too short (even I don't know why I still have these. Am I waiting for them to come back in style?), jeans that I can only wear with heels (because they're too long), jeans that I can only wear with boots (because they're too short), jeans that I can't button but also can't get rid of because "I'm going to wear these again!"...and, ugh. Just, ugh.
Hoarders is going to show up on my door step one day, just you wait. "We hear you have a lot of pants," they'll say. "We're here to help." And I'll say things like, "No! You can't get rid of THOSE - I'll wear them again, I promise! I just need to lose fifteen pounds and start doing squats!" Stay tuned. It's going to be a great episode.
I used to think that if I wore "boyfriend" jeans, people might think that I actually had a boyfriend. Isn’t that why they call them boyfriend jeans? Because maybe your boyfriend left them at your house and - instead of putting on your OWN jeans that morning (you know, the ones designed for your female body type that actually fit) - you were like, “Oh, maybe I’ll just wear my BOYFRIEND jeans”.
Because that makes sense. Why wear your own clothes when you can wear your boyfriend's clothes that were wadded up in a ball on your bedroom floor?
At least that was how I'd always imagined it. Like Boyfriend spent the night, and we woke up together and maybe I left the house before he did - you know, for bagels or something - and I just slipped on his jeans because they looked soo comfy. And because I wanted the world to know that I had a boyfriend, and that maybe he was still at my place, and that maybe he wasn't wearing pants.
This doesn't make sense for a few reasons:
1) It's weird. Why am I stealing his jeans? Why wouldn't I just steal his sweatshirt like a normal girlfriend?
2) If I wanted to be "comfy", why wouldn't I throw on sweatpants? Even if they were "Boyfriend's" sweatpants? Sweatpants are exponentially more comfy than any form of jeans that have ever existed, even men's jeans that are baggy and have extra room in the crotch area.
3) Men's jeans are baggy and have extra room in the crotch area.
Seriously. Even if Boyfriend and I were the same size - and I'm going to level with you here, boyfriends and I have never been the same size - his jeans would not be comfortable. Jeans are not soft and blanket-y like over-sized sweatpants. They're made of denim. You're wearing baggy denim. How many times have you said to yourself, "Gee. I can't wait to go home and throw on my baggy denim sweatpants...".... oh, right. Never.
Because that's not a thing.