I did not let my mother see me in my white jeans. Despite the fact she often dresses in ways reminiscent of someone who does not give a thought to clothing, she has a very, very strict sense of old school fashion rules. So while she will wear a t-shirt from the craft store with a floral skirt to church; she would never, ever, wear white jeans before Memorial Day or after Labor Day.
I know I am a grown woman; but I don't have it in me to navigate these differences of opinion on a Tuesday.
Also, I didn't think I had it in me to wear my white jeans all day long without an irreversible catastrophe.
White jeans, friends, always feel risky to wear. It is like giving a group of children a few cans of spray paint and then saying "have it at." Terrible things will happen; you will be all spotty and splattered. However, if you wear black, you are basically untouchable, except, of course, if you have a white cat and sit in their spot.
Then it is all over.
When I wear my white jeans I feel a bit like a prisoner. It is as if I am walking around wearing the formal living room that you were never allowed to sit in as a child. I don't feel like I can do anything; even going to use the restroom feels risky.
The dangers are everywhere!
But, today, I wanted to wear them, even though no one would see them and even though I needed to thin out my radishes and lettuce seedlings and despite the fact that spaghetti and meatballs was on the menu tonight! I wanted to wear an entire out of light colors--bone and brushed gold and white.
I did it. At lunchtime, I somehow splattered them in balsamic vinegar (and then had to use Mike's man soap to spot clean them). When I prepped dinner, tomato sauce sprayed on them (I used my cherry seltzer to spot clean). I cuddled with our black and white cat. I even walked in the neighborhood on a post-dinner stroll.
THEN, I went to the garden (my mother goes to bed at 7pm, so it was save at 7:30pm to enter outside). I fought and murdered lantern fly nymphs (they are total MFers). I thinned out my Parisian green leaf lettuce and my purple radishes. I kneeled and I crouched and I tugged and I pulled and I weeded out dandelions and other green debris.
I DID THIS ALL IN WHITE PANTS!
And you know, what? It was fine. I spot cleaned the messes. I bravely had an entire day in these pants and nothing horrible happened. In fact, it is 9:33pm and I am still wearing them, WHILE WRITING (and holding a pen, adjacent to my leg, with the cap off!).
Friends, I think these white pants are a reminder of three very, very, very, very important things:
1. Mothers judge us for our entire lives. So when partaking in fashion risks, avoid your mother!
2. You can do all the things you do in black pants in white pants!
3. While you may think this blog is ridiculous, I think my white jeans days is a reminder that you can do anything you set mind to, even if it is risky and might result in irrevocable stains and fashion shaming by your live-in mother.
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