I ripped my jeans today. The kind of dry rotting rip that can’t be patched. And unless you have a slammin’ body, you can’t buy jeans online. You have to try them on. You have to be able to see how your butt looks in the mirror. Even worse, these were work jeans. I refuse to pay retail for work jeans that will only get greasy right off. So I went to the thrift store. Do you understand? I went to a thrift store, Full of screaming, snotty children. In the midst of a pandemic. I found three possible pairs. Not the ripped up kind that the young ‘uns wear. But not Mom jeans, either. Only to discover that the fitting rooms were closed. Due to COVID-19. I had risked my life for a pair of jeans. Now I couldn’t try them on. I hung them on the nearest rack (of shirts), and walked out. I got in my car. I drove home. En route, I thought about how everything is just so damned hard now. You can’t eat out. You can’t hug. You can’t go to the movies. You can’t breathe freely. You can’t count on the government. You can’t go anywhere or do anything. We live in it daily, but sometimes it sneaks up. I sat in my driveway and cried. One of those hard, cleansing, chest-heaving cries that confuse and irritate men. Now I’m exhausted. And the pandemic still rages on, grinding us all down without remorse. Leaving casualties in its wake. Things will never be the same. I’m scared. Still sniffling, I went inside. And then someone drove up to our garage and stole some tools. Looked me square in the eye he drove away In his 60k, brand new SUV. Just like that. And all I wanted was a stinkin’ pair of jeans.
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The View from a Drawbridge 
@#$%&*>. Did you get a license plate number? I hope they can catch that son of a…wait, I won’t insult the whole canine species. I hope you can get some jeans that fit. I use the wraparound test if I can’t try ’em on. I don’t care what my butt looks like, I just care how it feels.
Hang in there and you will stick the landing again.
I only got the first three letters. Thanks.
Measure the ripped pants, if you still have them, and take this data to the thrift store. That, plus the wraparound test, will get you some pants that fit. Then, if anyone complains about your pants not fitting your butt, tell them to kiss it and make it better.
My husband bought me 4 pairs of jeans in different but similar size at Costco. I’ll try them on at home and return any I don’t like next time we go there to pick up prescriptions. But I’ll keep those ideas in mind! Thanks. My problem is I tend to fluctuate in size quite a bit.