Where's the Flood?

Finding jeans that fit can be an ordeal.  Wait, let me rephrase that.  Finding jeans that fit if you are a woman can be an ordeal.  (Why is that men can walk into a store, grab a pair of jeans by matching up two numbers and they fit, while women's denim manufacturer's can't seem to get it together on what cryptic number like 4, 6, or 10 mean?  You'd think that it would be easier now that some companies are actually listing sizes by supposed waist measurements, like 32 or 38, but apparently they are all using some hand-whittled-in-the-dark-ages measuring sticks that are unique, just like women's bodies.  But I digress...)

In my quest to find "good jeans," I have no fewer than 12 pairs of jeans hanging in my closet.  (Okay, for the sake of accuracy, I just checked.  There are 15 pairs in my closet, one pair that I'm wearing, and another in the laundry.)  Of those jeans, there are two pairs that I can't zip, another two that zip but are uncomfortable, three with holes in the knees that I can't bear to part with quite yet (one being a pair of Lucky Jeans that got a giant hole when I fell down my front cement steps the first time I wore them), one pair that I think are just too young looking for me so I immediately take them off every time I put them on (they still have the tags attached), a couple that are okay, a couple that are too short to wear with anything other than super flat shoes (I'm a heels girl), a great pair of trouser-ish jeans that fit fabulous but again are just a smidge short, and two pairs that are long and that I think I look pretty good in.  (I may have missed a few pairs, but you get the idea.)

There are many ways that jeans don't fit - waist, hips, thighs, length, rise....  Can someone please tell me what's going on with today's female youth in that many of them don't have hips?  I'm sorry, but boyfriend jeans that are cut straight from the waist to the thigh should - and do - leave giant gaps in the back of the waistband for those of us with hips.  (And saddlebags, but that's another issue.)  Is there some new evolutionary bias for hipless females???  Whatever the cause, I do not fit into the new straight torso category.  But fear not, there are new "curvy" cut jeans for us ladies whose waists are smaller than their hips.  Hallelujah. 

But for all the ways in which jeans don't fit me, there is one that at least has a small silver lining.  Length. You see, I'm 5'8" tall, which is not Amazonian by any standard, but is apparently tall enough that the average pant teases at being long enough while being worn in the dressing room, but then suddenly shrinks an inch by the time I get them home.  Who knows why this shrinkage occurs.  (Perhaps my house is significantly colder than the store dressing rooms???)  I even try to outsmart the jeans by trying them on - *gasp* - with my shoes!  Yep, they look long enough.  Until I get home...  Maybe it's my desperation to find good jeans.  I overlook seemingly obvious faults in an attempt to hope for the best later.  (Holy heck, is this jeans shopping or my dating life in my 20's???)

I am aware that they make jeans in tall sizes, and yes, I do own a couple pairs of said jeans.  They are, however, made for Amazonian women and necessitate the wearing of significantly heeled shoes so as to not drag on the ground behind my heels.  (No, I don't hem.  And if I did hem, it wouldn't be jeans.  Jeans are sewing machine needle killers.)  And because I have recently began to grudgingly admit that heels are not entirely perfect for all situations, my tall jeans do not work for all outfits and/or footwear.  (Okay, that's not true.  Heels are always fabulous.  It's because of a nasty neuroma on one foot that causes constant pain, otherwise I'd wear heels to the grocery store.)  This leaves me with my slightly-short jean options.  (Save me the "where's the flood" jokes as I hear them in my head every time I look in the mirror while wearing my I-wish-these-were-an-inch-longer denim pants.)

But.... 

Wait for it....

I knit socks.  Beautiful socks with lots of fancy crap like cables, lace, and heel flaps that have brought me to tears.  Socks using $20 skeins of hand-dyed yarn.  A pair of knee socks that was almost the death of me that took 40-50 hours of knitting time and $40 in yarn (not including shipping).  Socks that I love wearing. 

Socks that are usually hidden under long-enough jeans.

So the next time you see me in my jeans, instead of thinking that I'm preparing in advance for my hot water tank to break and flood my basement, take a peek at that inch between my hem and the top of my shoes.  You just may see a sock work of art.