Venus in Blue Jeans
You can all stop looking for enlightenment. I’ve found it. Nirvana is no longer a second rate rock band with only one decent song. It’s mine and I’m not sharing. Yea, though the road was long and my temper short, I have fulfilled my quest. False Gods and mighty foes littered my path but I did not falter. Let all the peoples sing Alleluia with joyous voice. May their praise shake the foundations of the earth and rattle the stars.
I now possess the greatest treasure any woman may hold. I have found a pair of jeans that fit. Life is good. Life is great. They fit round my waist, they fit round my hips. There is no gap when I bend in the middle and my jeans don’t. They’re new. They’re trendy. They’re indigo. They have faded bits on them which makes it look like I’ve owned them forever. They have flares at the bottom. They’re long enough to wear boots with. They’re high enough that I can actually wear knickers with them (I’m afraid I’m an old fashioned girl and I believe in wearing underwear) and low enough that they’re not high-waisted. They do everything a new pair of well fitting jeans should do. They make me happy. They make F happy - or they will do when he sees me in them. Not that F has a fetish about women wearing jeans, its just now that I have some of my own - I can finally stop wearing his, a fact which as he’s only got one decent pair should blind him to the extortionate amount I took out of his bank account to pay for them.
I’m wearing them now. Dancing round the house to Free (Tons of Sobs). Partly it’s happiness, partly its loosening the bloody things up enough so that I can bend in them. I’ve gone through all the ritual movements women do when they bring their new jeans home - the first joyous lying on the floor doing the zip up with a coat hanger routine (to the refrain of ” I can’t have put on that much weight on the way home - can I?”), the trying to stand up when you can’t bend in the middle dance (to the chorus of “well at least it’ll remind me to keep my back straight - good posture is very important”) I’ve had the classic “do you think it would help if I got into a bath wearing them” conversation with myself and the “Remember. Keep stomach sucked in at all times otherwise all the held in bits will rise above the waistband and explode over the belt” warning has flashed in my brain. But all this is merely getting to know each other that occurs at the beginning of any relationship. Give it ten years (I’m very loyal) and these jeans will fit perfectly (this of course will also be about the time that realise that I can’t put patches over the patches over the patches and so the whole damn quest will start again) I never want to take them off. I never want to put them on in case I wear them out. I should have bought two pairs really. In fact that’s not a bad idea…