I had three parties to attend over the Christmas holidays. And back in December, I thought that maybe if I could find a new top. Kind of festive, a bit dressy, maybe a bit sparkly. Not too pricey. Not too trendy. It would jazz up my festive wardrobe. Not that I actually have a festive wardrobe. Not that I am given to wearing dressy, sparkly things in general. But nevertheless. Off I went in search of something dressy and sparkly.
And came home with jeans. Just writing that makes me laugh.
Of course, my new jeans are not dressy, or festive, or sparkly. Nor did they assist me in trying to decide what to wear to my parties. But they are just about the best pair of jeans I have tried on in many, many moons of jeans shopping.
They make me feel wonderful. I slipped them on at Nordstrom, turned to my friend Liz and, striking a pose, said, "Ooooo, I've still got it!" And laughed. "Well, at least these jeans make me feel as if 'I've still got it,'" I said, making air quotes around the last part of my sentence. And I laughed again because there's a story behind that phrase. But first the jeans, then the story.
They're Current Elliot jeans. Not quite flares, but a bit more flared than boot cut. A bit distressed. And fairly high waisted. Yah! No more low rise for me. Ever again.
I love them with my Paul Green boots and my new camel turtleneck from Aritzia.
|No more low-rise for me.|
|Standing to attention in my new jeans.|
I also like my new jeans with this blue and white striped, rayon and linen, long sleeved tee shirt from Alexander Wang, which I may have picked up the same day I didn't intend to buy the jeans. It's tissue thin, and will be good under my winter coats. Like the brown Max Mara I'm wearing here. Or as a layering piece.
Or on those frosty winter days when I want to be super casual, I can wear my new jeans with this long, loose Vince turtleneck. And my old cream Max Mara puffa vest. I bought it in 2002 with a winter white, corduroy, midi-skirt to match. The skirt's long gone, but I still love the vest. Max Mara makes quality stuff. This would be a great outfit for a winter road trip. Say, to the Laurentians for a few days of skiing at the end of January... if Hubby's shoulder continues to improve. Fingers are crossed. I'm trying the half-tuck thing here, with the jeans belted. The jury's still out on this, though. Feels kind of contrived. But fully tucked in is not an option. I lost the right (and the desire) to tuck when middle-age middle made its appearance a few years ago.
|Max and Vince and a half-tuck.|
Now about that story. A few years ago when Hubby and I were both still working we liked to get away for a couple of cross-country ski weekends each winter. We'd book into a small motel somewhere up the Ottawa Valley, or near Algonquin Park, and ski the groomed trails, if there were ski trails; if not we'd ski the snowmobile trails, sometimes even breaking trail on old woods roads that were used for logging in the summer.
One weekend we'd booked into a little inn somewhere south of Algonquin Park, skied the snowmobile trails all day, and on Saturday night were eating supper in the bar/restaurant. More bar than restaurant, actually. While we were eating the place filled up. The parking lot and the snow covered back yard of the inn filled with roaring snowmobiles, and the bar filled with people clad in full body snowmobile suits, and heavy boots, carrying their helmets in one hand and a beer in the other. It was darts night, the waiter told us.
Anyway, we finished our meal and decided to take our wine back to our room. The bar was getting very loud and very smoky. As we tried to wend our way to the door, Hubby went one way and I the other around a clutch of darts players. Then my path was blocked by a tall, blonde guy, with the top half of his snowmobile suit tied around his waist and a beer in each hand. He was very young, and very drunk. He weaved from side to side, grinning.
"Where're ya goin' blondie?" he winked, and when he grinned again, I could see that he was missing several teeth.
"Over there," I pointed to the door.
"Are ya sleddin ta-night?" he gestured with his beer and spilled some.
"Nope. Skiing," I replied.
"Ah. Why'ncha stay and have a beer?"
"Can't," I said, gesturing to where Hubby stood by the door. "My husband's waiting for me."
"Ah well, that'sh too bad," he said.
"Yep. See ya," I sidled past him.
By the time I reached Hubby at the door I was in stitches. "What?" he said. "What was that all about?"
"I might be almost fifty," I gasped. "And that guy might be about twelve, drunk, with no teeth... but I've still got it!"
Hubby and I always laugh about that night. The first time in a long time that anyone tried to pick me up in a bar. And the last.
Ah well. I may be almost sixty, now. But when I pull on my new Current Elliot jeans... well, I feel like I've still got it. Kind of. Sort of. Whatever "it" might be.
So, dear readers... any particular items in your wardrobe that make you sigh and feel like you've "still got it?"