By Marla Jo Fisher, The Orange County Register
My kids have suddenly insisted they must own a pair of “skinny jeans” and this is putting me into a bit of a quandary.
My first problem was that I had no idea what skinny jeans were, except that they probably fell in between emaciated jeans and chubby jeans, and you didn’t find them in the Husky department.
However, some people who are more hip than I am have explained to me that they’re, drum roll please … really skinny jeans.
I guess that means they’re like the Levis my parents wore in the 1950s, and they wore in “American Graffiti,” where you would buy them and then jump into a scorching hot bathtub while wearing them, so they would shrink to fit your body exactly.
Good idea, huh, young ‘uns? Except for the second-degree-burn part.
I bet the Levis were a lot cheaper, though, than any designer denim today.
I must say I’m in favor of the concept of skinny jeans, if it means my son won’t beg to wear pants so baggy that he has to hold up his crotch while he runs.
And I suspect they probably won’t fall so low on his hips that everyone can see his boxer shorts.
I can’t count how many times I pointed out to him the comically pathetic sight of boys trying to run while holding up their baggy jeans, or grabbing their waistbands to keep them from falling to their knees.
“Don’t be a fashion victim,” I begged him. And, when I see women in painfully high heels, I tell Curly Girl the same thing.
But I am loathe to rush out and buy them pants they don’t need just because all the other kids are wearing them.
Curly Girl saw a pair she liked at the South Coast Plaza today for $32.99 and decided she should have one in every color.
Ha. That ain’t gonna happen. That’s my “grumpy old mom” side talking.
My “inner child” side reminds me that I was once 12 years old, just like Cheetah Boy, and I so desperately longed for a “poor boy” dress made out of a certain type of knit fabric.
Everyone who was cool in school had one. But my mom generally made all our clothes, to save money. And she couldn’t make a poor boy dress.
Finally, after infinite begging, my mom bought me one, even though she couldn’t afford it, and I was ecstatic to wear it to school.
The dress got burnt up a few days later when our house caught on fire, but I still remember it, 40 years later.
So, now I have to decide who wins: Frugal and grumpy old mom, or inner child mom.
I have a feeling they’ll be doing battle a lot over the next few years.
Marla Jo Fisher was a workaholic before she adopted two foster kids several years ago. Now she juggles work and single parenting, while being exhorted from everywhere to be thinner, smarter, sexier, healthier, more frugal, a better mom, better dressed and a tidier housekeeper. Contact her at firstname.lastname@example.org. Read her blog at http://themomblog.freedomblogging.com/category/frumpy-middleaged-mom-ma rla-jo-fisher/.