Bringing Crack Back

I accidentally wore my “standing up” jeans last night.

I went out with friends to a fancy cigar bar last night. Running errands before hand, this gave me an hour to get ready. Only an hour. Normally this would be sufficient, but as I was deciding what to wear, I realized that I hate all my clothes.

Typically I’m a jeans-and-tshirt kind of gal. I don’t wear puffy sleeves, flower prints and the color pink. I avoid sweater sets, ponchos and things with bows. However, last night I felt the need to bring out my more feminine side. I perused through my closet and laundry room for something that would bring out the girl in me. Something that would allow me to bring sexy back.

Sadly, I found very little.

I’m sure getting tired of one's clothes is a normal thing. We all go through cycles. I now find myself at the end of one cycle and not sure how to begin the next. Maybe I need a personal shopper that will tell me when I look like crap. I would welcome this criticism if it came from the right person. The wrong person would end up being the target of a bunch of colorful words and rude insults.

Now utterly depressed in my lack of style, I decided to give my chest of drawers a shot. This chest is usually reserved for those clothes that I lie to myself about. The “one day” clothes. The ones I pathetically hang onto in case I ever decide to take the gym seriously. I dug through each drawer in hopes to find a hidden treasure. An article of clothing that I could somehow pass off as decent.

And there they were…

Jeans. I discovered a pair of jeans that I had forgotten. I remember liking these jeans. They had the appropriately placed manufactured worn in spots that made them look as if I wear them everyday while doing manual labor. As I put them on, I hoped for the best. I was surprised that they were a perfect fit. I twirled in the mirror like a teenager checking out every angle. Not too tight, not too loose. Perfect length for the new high heeled black leather boots I bought a couple of weeks ago. Paired up with a girly shirt I found, I was looking hot. The choir was singing. The angels were dancing. I even had great hair. This was going to be a good night.

And then I got into my car.

Finally happy with my ensemble and with one last look in the mirror, I grabbed my keys and headed to the car. Opened the door and sat down.

“Crap.”

There are “standing up” jeans and “sitting down” jeans.

Unless you wear sweats all the time, you must know what I’m talking about. You don’t sit down in standing up jeans. You either flash your crack or reveal that bulge that indicates you’ve been through the Taco Bell drive-thru way too many times. It all depends on where the top of the jeans hit ya or how tight they are. In my haste, I forgot that these were my standing up jeans.

Standing up jeans are reserved for parties or clubs where you don’t plan to sit. You gracefully stand with a martini in one hand while the other hand is free for flirting with that cute guy. That casual touch of his hand or picking off that imaginary lint off his shoulder. You don’t sit down in standing up jeans. This is a fashion no-no.

In too much of a hurry, I thought “screw it” and drove to the bar where my friends were waiting. Saying “no” to crack, I conveniently kept my back towards the wall while sitting at the table. Whenever I stood up, I tried to cleverly pull my pants up with as much grace as possible. I enjoyed going to the cigar bar and I look forward to going back.

But until the plumber look is in style, I’m wearing my sitting down jeans.