On the subject of jeans

Ask any woman and I'm sure she will tell you that among the top shopping traumas there are three which rise to the top as the cream of shopping agony- bras, bathing suits, and JEANS. So it has been with great procrastination, and yet also hopeful anticipation, that I have been staring at a small pile of cash which represents the last of my Christmas money. Set aside for great things this bit of cash was baptized with its one and only calling- to be exchanged for a hip, cool pair of jeans. Portland is the city of jeans. Jeans can pass in all settings from cocktail parties to hiking trails. But there is also a great science to jeans- color, texture, fit, style. Wide leg, boot leg, skinny leg, lowrise, midrise, loose fit, boy fit, and the list goes on until one feels like a doctorate degree is needed in order to understand this complex world of THE JEAN. Since it is mid-April and our high temperatures are still struggling to make it out of the 40s, my standard mode of dress is jeans. Now that we live in the music, hipster capital of the West Coast the time had come to succumb to fashion and break out of my standard boot leg Gap jeans. So Tuesday I walked sheepishly into the Levis' store with my wad of cash stuffed into my pocket. I had one goal in mind- to find the perfect pair of jeans. Let's just say that, as in the case of bras and bathing suits, I have come to the sad conclusion that there is no such thing as 'the perfect fit.' BUT, twelve pairs of jeans and a counseling session from the Levis salesgirl later, I walked out of the Levis store a proud owner of a dark pair of tapered 'skinny' jeans with enough length to roll up at the cuff. Jackpot.

In celebration Jason and I actually went out last night to hear live music- a band from Seattle called The Quiet Ones (those CHattanoogans among you will recognize these guys..the Totten-sp?- brothers). I'm sitting there listening to this rock band in my new hipster jeans and throwing around words like 'indie rock' like I actually know what I'm talking about with the tattooed girl across the table, and it hits me. You can put a girl in hipster jeans, but you can't put the hipster into the girl. Fortunately, my hair is finally long enough that I could plug one ear in a desperate attempt to save my eardrums while at the same time just looking as though I was leaning back to take in the music. This worked until the other ear cried out in pain, and I had to switch my pose to accommodate the pounding in the opposite ear. Alas...my cool days are over, if they ever were there to begin with. So, to all you women out there who know the agony of the bra, the bathing suit, and the jean....here is a nod to you from Portland. Cheers.