Jean Quest in the Windy City
My trek to Chicago on Monday with my husband was fun. Before heading to Nordstrom – the one place that claims to have everything under one roof. I had to hold up my end of the bargain and go shopping with my husband to American Science and Surplus. Not my kind of store, but he LOVES it.
Munchberry made a comment that she’d never heard of the store so my husband asked that I pass along a proper definition of this magical place to her: "It’s one-stop shopping for gizmos, gadgets, science stuff, lab equipment, tools, parts, and a whole lotta stuff you didn’t know existed."
…and I can prove that statement since I had nothing to do but wander around the isles snapping photos to share with you so you could see for yourself:
Oh, and that’s not all AS&S has to offer. Check these out:
OK, all kidding aside, this store has stuff you’d never find anywhere else. I guess that’s why my husband finds it so appealing, and I was happy to stroll around snapping random photos while he blissfully looked on every shelf for that special something.
I figured the best way to share my experience was by posting photos along with snippets of conversation between the three people involved in my quest for George: Me, Husband, and Aaron (my consultant).
3:30 PM. Arrive on the third floor of Nordstrom. I look at one rack of jeans and immediately begin to notice no petite sizes. Literally, within seconds, Aaron came to my rescue. Here’s where our story begins:
Aaron: You already look lost. Do not worry because I am here to find you the perfect pair of jeans. Now, what dress size are you?
Me: Um…I think between an 8 and a 10.
Aaron: Just look around for a moment and I’ll let you know when your dressing room is ready. (Wow! This is WAY better than the pick ‘n git that I’m used to around my neck of the woods!)
Less than 5 minutes pass Aaron has my dressing room ready.
Me: Can I bring my man in with me?
Aaron: Your man can come right on in and make himself comfortable!
We get settled into the dressing room where I suck in my breath and stare at these:
and these, which husband is balancing on his lap.
Here’s where it started getting frustrating. All of the jeans I tried on (the 28’s) felt OK. They didn’t look great, as you will see in these next photos,
…but they felt, OK. Knock on the door. It’s Aaron.
Aaron: How are you doing?
Me: Terrible. They just don’t look very good.
Aaron: Oh, these jeans are a whole size too big. You need to go down a size.
Me: But I am already showing a little bit of a muffin top on these. If I go down a size, my fat will literally hang over the sides like silly putty.
Aaron: Let me show you something (pulls the waist of the jean away from my body, which left about 2 inches of space) Do you see all that extra fabric? If you buy any pair of jeans where you can stick your fist down your lower back and into your pants, you need a smaller size. Also, jeans are never supposed to feel good when you first try them on. You have to break them in, like a pair of heels. I’ll be right back. Keep trying the rest of those on, though (and points to the pairs on Husband’s lap).
Me to Husband: I don’t understand. I’m supposed to buy jeans that make me look like an Oompa-Loompa?
Husband: Honey, he’s probably helped more women fit into more jeans today than you’ve ever tried on in your whole life. If you keep buying jeans like you’ve been doing, you’ll keep getting the same droopy butt results, right? I’d listen to him.
So, I try on a few more pair, one looking just as bad as the next:
Aaron brought me in a pair that was ‘my size’ – a 26. I tried them on and couldn’t even bring myself to look in the mirror. He said, ‘Ellen Honey, I swear to you, in a week these will stretch out and will fit you. I swear it.’
Me: So, you are basically telling me that I wear these pants; I just can’t leave the house in them for a week. Is that right?
My husband interjects right about here and tries to lighten my mood a bit. ‘Ellen, you can’t just wear the jean. You have to be the jean. Tell her, Aaron.’
By this time we’re all laughing. Aaron hands me a few more pairs, goes next door to help a girl named Lauren and says, ‘How you doin’ in there, Lauren?’ but before Lauren could answer, I say, ‘Lauren is doing a lot better than I am!’ Lauren says, ‘Get the smaller pair! They’ll fit, they really will!’
I look at my husband and ask him which pair it was that fit the best. He says, ‘This brand is called Lexie Kimmie Curvy Bootcut.’
“No. No, honey – that’s just the cut of the jean. Who makes it?”
“Um…For All The Number 7 Mankind, whatever that means.” My sweet, sweet husband. I don’t bother to correct him. I like it better the way he says it, anyway.
OK, then. I guess these are the ones:
On my way out of the dressing room I told Aaron that he was going to receive a photo from me in two weeks with these jeans on, and we’ll see if they look better on me by then. He was so confident that they would look great, he gave me his card and a hug, and said, ‘I’d better get that photo in two weeks. I’m going to be looking for it – I’m not kidding!’
Oh, Aaron. I’m not kidding, either. Maybe I should plan on practicing yoga in these. That will speed the process along, huh? If these jeans actually do magically conform to my body after being broken-in after a couple of weeks, this will mean that I have been shopping for jeans the wrong way for most of my adult life. I’ll not only owe him a photo, but a huge apology – and a thank you.
Come back in two weeks, dear readers. Aaron will be getting his photo, but not before you see it right here, first!