The time had come—the dreaded pants shopping. I took a deep breath, pulled the door open and braced myself. How many pairs of women’s pants could a store hold? Hundreds? Thousands? I wasn’t going to count. I’d get a headache.
I headed down a main aisle, but it wasn’t long before the red clearance signs, screaming 70% off, captured my attention.
What? A dishtowel for $1.27. Of course I need another dishtowel! And with pineapples on it!
Put the dishtowel down, Joy.
But…
FOCUS. PANTS.
I again trudged. My trudging took me by the Juniors Department, a.k.a. clothing for skinny young females with basal metabolism rates faster than a Mach 10 Darkstar. (I LOVED Top Gun Maverick!)
I was a ‘junior’ once—long, long ago in a land far away. Back then I could eat giant hamburgers with French fries and a chocolate shake and still zip up my jeans without suffocation. Back then I scorned stretchy polyester pants with elastic waistbands. (Those were for little old ladies.) Back then I dreamed all the dreams common to skinny young females of the 1980s—getting a car, getting a career, following my dreams, maybe even getting a diamond…
The phrase diamonds are a girl’s best friend comes from a song of the same name, written by lyricist Leo Robin in 1949 for the musical Gentleman Prefer Blondes. I did get a diamond in 1985 from a soft-spoken gentleman who I’ve been married to for 37 years. Happily, he was okay with a brunette.
But back to my quest for pants…
I breezed past the Junior Department, secretly thanking the Lord that I didn’t have to wear those pants. I would look ridiculous. I would have to gasp for air. I would faint from hypoxia. Someone would have to call an ambulance.
I finally crossed over into Women’s Pants. I was a bit stupefied—black, brown, beige, tan, olive, maroon, gray, khaki, denim, mid-rise, high-rise, low-rise, relaxed, skinny, boot cut, straight leg, wide leg, flared, bell bottoms (they’re back!) But how would I ever pick? I took my best guess.
Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. This was hopeless.
What now?
I surveyed the endless landscape one more time. I really needed to buy some new pants. Some of my pants pre-date smart phones.
There was, however, one section I’d been avoiding, reasoning I wouldn’t find pants there. I’m definitely not…
Hmmm, those are 30% off and I’ve got a coupon. Maybe I should…
Get going! You’re not getting any younger or any skinnier.
Sometimes, it’s dumb to argue with yourself. The store was also closing in forty-three minutes. I swallowed my pride and headed off to, yep, the little old lady section. I prayed no one I knew would see me.
Hmmm, these aren’t too bad. Oh, this fabric is soft. Ooooh, this one’s stretchy- 5% spandex and COMFORTABLE ! I could wear this with my green shirt…Off I went to the dressing room.
Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope…
What? These fit? And these fit too! And they actually look nice, and I can breathe! Two yeses!
I strolled to the check-out, pulled out my 20% off code, and whipped out my smart phone birthday coupon. Savings and success in one fell swoop. I would’ve jumped for joy, but I didn’t want to hurt my knee.
In a few days, I will reach a new decade. At that point, according to ‘the experts’, I will have ‘crystallized wisdom.’ I’m not sure what that means, if it’s even true, or if it’s just a nice way of saying ‘you’re old.’ Truth be told, I don’t mind too much. The Lord has granted me many of the dreams I had as a (somewhat) skinny young female. I’m so thankful.
But I dream differently now. My priorities have changed. They have stretched. I have stretched, and ‘I have learned in whatever situation (or pants) I am to be content.’ Philippians 4:11b
Diamonds may be a girl’s best friend, but spandex is a woman’s.
Stay tuned for more ‘crystalized wisdom.’
Until next time.
