A Fright On Sunday Morning

This beautiful Sunday morning, I performed my usual routine. Get the kids up, feed them, dress them. Then I move on to grooming myself for the morning's festivities. I pick out a shirt to wear with my jeans, get some socks out, my shoes. I put on my jeans and realize I grabbed the "hoochie" jeans, i.e. the ones I wear around my husband (if you don't know, don't ask!). They are "very low waist" and "hip hugging," which is a relief cause if they weren't you'd be calling me Paris on the Red Carpet. So I took the jeans off and got the regular, "low waist" pair and put them on.

Then it hit me. Could I be getting, dare I say it?, OLD?!! Now that I prefer not to hang my arse end out of low cut jeans and feel the breeze runneth over my crack, does that mean I'm (gasp!) GROWING UP?!! I take a quick inventory. My shoes (all four pair) are either black or white. I haven't worn three of them in a month or so. The last ones are Sketchers (1 point for the teen era) that are almost worn into the ground, but they're my favorite cause they are the most comfortable. Oh, and I am the proud owner of four pairs of flip flops that are permanently flip flopped. You know, you take them off and they look like you froze them mid-step. Speaking of shoes, my feet are dry and cracked (eewww!) and unpainted (minus that point from above).

I have eight pairs of jeans. Two are the "low waist" (sexy and in tune with the times but still lady-like), my "hoochie" jeans, one torn pair of "hoochie" jeans (I know what you're thinking, and NO, I ripped then while pulling them on), two pair of old jeans (I recently upgraded) and two pairs of size 14 jeans (hey, one can hold out hope, huh?). I also own two belts, a black and a brown.

My closet contains around 15 shirts, 13 of which I don't wear cause James isn't around. But to my credit they are sit-at-the-hips type and current slogan emblazoned. My drawers contain 20 or so white shirts that I wear all day almost every day, and four pairs of "lounge pants." Oh my gosh! Does wearing a T-shirt and scuzzy pants all day cause they're comfy and I really don't care how I look make me even more OLD?!! AAHHHH!!

At least I still have my demi cut bras and thongs (who needs all that fabric between your skin and your pants? Doesn't all that bunch up and keep you hitching your giddy-yap all day?). But I do have more than two sports bras, to throw on when unexpected company arrives.....

All in all I decide to wear the normal jeans because it's church and I figure God knows what my arse looks like anyway and I don't need to show it off for His sake. And I figure, if I'm getting OLD at least it didn't attack me all at once and I still have a few more years to go. Hopefully.

P.S.
My children and I walked to church today, and of course when we got into the parking lot Lily runs ahead of us. She gets onto the sidewalk and hikes up her dress and starts pulling on her pantyhose. I'm yelling at her to put her dress down (surely that wasn't EVERYONE from our congregation outside....) and she looks at me and says, "Mom, I have to pull up my panties, they are falling down!" I sprint to her and yank her dress down and we have a modesty talk, which I'm sure she disregarded pretty quickly. Then we ran into the building and dropped the kids off and I sat in the back pew with my face behind a bulletin.