Jeans are important

If you want food commentary I'm sending you here today, because I have new jeans and I'm so excited I can hardly type straight. It's possible to live in America and not own a properly fitting pair of jeans, but let me tell you, it's horrible. I was three years in the desert trying to work the skirts. I had a too-tight pair of jeans that left welts on my belly when I could button them at all, and a saggy pair that made me feel like a molting snake. Not a long thin snake, a fat snake, like a boa constrictor. Hate those saggy jeans. Hate. 

Fixed all that today. Thank-you Bloomingdale's sale. It's like recovering from the flu, putting on a pair of perfectly fitting jeans. If you're wondering why it took me so long to do something so eminently sensible as shop for jeans in my actual size, you're clearly a sane woman who's never suffered the illusion that the diet starts tomorrow with complete physical transformation to follow. Or, you are a man. These were absurdly expensive jeans, even on sale. Worth it. I bought the boot-cut pair above* and also the gray ones below.

I know. They're skinny jeans. But I had to have them, Layne. Maybe this is my foolish midlife crisis purchase, the equivalent of the balding man's Porsche. But cheaper.

Okay. Satisfaction expressed. Back to food.

*That's not me. As if I really needed to tell you.