How skinny jeans almost killed me.

After reading about these awesome skinny jeans, I knew I had to have some. I set off in search of, hoping to score a deal because, frankly, $179 not including our local 10% sales tax made me gag.

First place I hit up was an awesome consignment store where I've snagged sweet designer skinny jeans in the past for $15. Part of why I'm able to find these deals is because I wear a 25 or 26 (0-2) in most jeans. It's genetics. What's your excuse?

My last skinny jeans...JCrew for $15.
They didn't have the holes in the knees when I bought them.

A better shot with better contrast so you can better see my thigh gap.
It's a good one partly because I'm semi-bowlegged. Again, genetics.

In case it wasn't clearly defined in that above picture...

I found 8 pair on the rack that I was interested in. Alas, none had rockin'-cool zippers at the ankles...but truth be told, since my pair of pinstriped Guess ankle-zip jeans back in 1989, I haven't been all that partial to zippers. So feeling special because I had such a large selection and none were pricier than $20, I set to work...kicked off my flipflops and stripped down.

The first pair were super comfy. A definite maybe. Happy that they were cheap and without zippers, I proceeded to remove them. Here's where things went glaringly awry...

Because they had no zippers...

Because they were skinny...

Because I have heels on my feet...

The fucking pantleg got a little stuck on my heel. I bent over to the right a little to nudge it over the edge and something went *ping*

Ooooo...fuck. I thought as I started to stand to hang the jeans on their hanger. That wasn't good.

The straighter I stood the more I thought, Fuck. This isn't good.

Once I had the hanger on the hook, I looked at the pile of my own jeans and flipflops in the middle of the floor. All I could think was,

How in the FUCK am I going to get those on?

After a few moments of whimpering, I manned up and got dressed. Somehow I made it to my car and somehow again I drove home.  I spent the next 4 days looking at this...

The view staring straight up from my living room floor.
I imagined I was in rural village in Italy,
looking at quaint laundry drying over a quaint street.
The vicodin helped.

If I ever complain about not being able to run again, I hope someone slaps me. Try not being able to MOVE without excruciating pain. Running is gravy. Running is something we get to do if we're lucky. I have a new-found appreciation for mobility of any kind. And I will never roll my eyes EVER again when someone says they hurt their back. EVER.

P.S. if you found any of this funny, it's okay to laugh because I'll be fine. If I were not going to be fine, then laughter would be so fucked up. Isn't it weird how that works?

Epilogue: I can walk now. I can get to the bathroom almost easily. It almost doesn't hurt to sneeze. But after the chiropractor, the massage therapist, my husband taking 2 days off of work, and the upcoming physical therapy...I'm thinking $179 for jeans isn't all that bad. Fuuuuuuck.

Have you ever hurt your back?

Do you know anyone who has a "bad" back?

Do you roll your eyes when people mention their back in such a way?

Have you ever been to Italy?

Do you prefer skinny jeans with or without zippered ankles?

What size are you? 

What do you get to blame on genetics?

Do you believe in excuses?