They mock me from the closet…from the low shelf, hidden under an old pair of flip-flops and a sweater that’s missing a button.
The pair of Miss Me jeans with the bespangled back pockets (that is totally a word).
I bought them a few months ago, in a fit of enthusiasm that I had scored an awesome deal and they fit.
Having legs that are just about one inch shy of being regular length, I get giddy when I find a pair of LONG jeans that will fit me and not look like cropped pants.
Not that those aren’t cute.
But the Miss Me jeans?
They are awesome.
And yet they remain, with tags, on that low shelf.
I have stolen their chance at glory, stolen their chance to hug the slight curves of a sorority girl or grace the backside of rodeo queen.
What was I thinking?
Tags remain attached, giving slight hope that a sensible return-for-store-credit might be the solution.
I want them.
I want to pull them on and admire the blingy back pockets that only draw attention to that flattened place where I sit and write.
I want to wear them to my favorite haunts: the grocery store, Target or the gas station.
I want to sparkle…just a bit.
Isn’t that OK? Does it really matter how silly a middle-aged woman may look with sparkles on her backside?
I took it to the Twitter a few weeks ago and threw it out there…
When is a woman too old for bling on her back pockets?
There was plenty of advice, including this: “If she has to ask, she probably already knows the answer.”
I want to sparkle a bit longer.
I want to stay up late and run with scissors and eat my ice cream first.
To say no, to take a chance, to dream big and just be alive.
With sparkles on my ass.
…and still, they mock me from the closet.
What am I afraid of? Does it really matter that I am too old to sparkle?
My time to sparkle may be now.
And it may just start with a fabulous pair of jeans.