Taking my coin slot into my own hands

Okay, that title didn't come out quite right.

But you know how sometimes, it is just love at first sight?

No, this isn't about that new vampire book, Breaking Wind.

(Which, I am embarrassed to say, I have completed. But thanks for lending it to me, nice lady with the initials J.R.)

It's about how, sometimes, you meet someone new, and the magic is there at the very beginning, right? There is immediate chemistry? Well, from the very first moment I took the William Rast Daisy Super Flare in Gardenia Wash into my arms, and waltzed her into the dressing room, I could tell we were going to get on famously.

But as I slipped her up over my hips, buttoned her up, and twisted around to catch a glimpse of her on my backside, I thought, now this is denim of a different color! LOOK at my rear side! LOOK! LOOK, SELF! LOOK AT YOUR BACK END! Did you get a good gander? How does she push it all up that way, so I don't look like all my junk is just pancakes, the short stack, in the steamrollered trunk? I don't know, but she did. And then, she didn't gap in the back of the waist AT ALL, which has never happened ever before in my whole entire life, except when I took my coin slot into my own hands and TAILORED MY OWN JEANS. Which totally works, but it took me 7 hours with my sewing machine. Which is really a waste of time, because...

That's seven hours of living, gone; seven hours that I could have spent gazing lustily at my own butt in the mirror, in the lovely Daisy Jeans by my man William Rast (who, it turns out, is Justin Timberlake. It's his brand), or reading aloud to my children, or serving my fellow man. Or something.

All this is great, of course. But you want to know something EVEN BETTER? Justin Timberlake makes his jeans HUGE! Enormous! So ginormous that I need my Daisies 2 FULL SIZES SMALLER than my regular jeans. Just slipping on that size makes me feel slim and svelte like a frenchy supermodel. Because of this, Daisy and I are best friends forever now. Kindred spirits. (I think I imprinted on her a tiny bit.)

So, here I yam, sitting here in my new jeans, right-e-o?

NOPE.

Daisy is totally outta my league. She runs with a faster, jet-setty crowd. She is so, so pricey. Like, you'll need some Franklin twins just to get invited to her party. Even though I know we totally belong together, I could not take her home and sit on the couch and watch girly movies and spill popcorn on her, like I daydreamed about. I began to think of us as star-crossed BFFs, and it actually started to break my heart a little bit.

Until, I remembered about the wonderful world of online auctions.

So now, I'm cyber-stalking her on Ebay. Because, SHE WILL BE MINE.

I'm sounding sorta creepy, right? In addition to shallow, which cannot be avoided when you post about jean love. But now, I'm freakin' and creepin' you out a little? Sort of like vampire love and reproduction, maybe?

HMMM.

I don't care. I just wanted to tell you about fabulous pants; if that is wrong, well, then, you are wrong, to think it is wrong. And you can just take me off your Google Reader.

No, hold on, no need to be so hasty. Don't do that. I probably won't blog about jeans again for a good, long while.

Even though, if you are a girl like me, with a crazy, curvy-licious waist to hip ratio (seems medically impossible that I could ever have a heart attack), and a body shape that can only described by the phrase "extreme pear," then you know how it is. And you will probably bid against me on my William Rast Daisy Super Flares in Gardenia. I can't blame you. But I will win, ladies, because I am going to snipe the heck outta you.

So, happy bidding! May the flattest butt win!