I am down to one pair of jeans. The other pair gave up the ghost in an awkwardly obvious to me way yesterday. Thanks to my Konmari organized cubby–I KNOW it is one pair of jeans.
This has never happened in my adult life. Ever.
Logically, this means, take my birthday check from my mother and go find a couple of pair of jeans. I am sure that $50 can find me some, without trying to sort through the madness that is the area thrift stores.
But, that would take a lot of energy I don’t have this week. Go, find jeans, guess at a size, try them on, do they fit, will they fit this week? next week? the week after? And more than that–will they bring me joy or just be what I wear because jeans and a shirt is who I really am? Jeans are jeans after all. But, then I remember favorite pairs. Finding new favorite jeans is hard work.
After just over a year with Gwynnie Bee–this is the last month. It brought me joy in the beginning–a lot. Some of it still does. Mostly though, it reminds me that I was dressing to be a woman who I am not. So, back to my “normal” mom clothes as my kids thought of them. T-shirts and Jeans. Turtlenecks and jeans. Hoodies and jeans. Yes, I kept some Gwynnie Bees over the months. I will wear them when I am being the woman who wears those dresses.
There is perhaps a complicated story, not for now, about the whole Gwynnie Bee experiment in reflection. Why I did it, what I learned, why I thought I did it, why I should have, why I shouldn’t have, why it stopped giving me joy months ago.