Telling it like it is

Nowadays, we shroud the reality of situations in kinder, gentler words. If somebody can't pay attention, whether due to being overly active or being in a daze, we have a name for it. If someone is overweight, "obese" seems like a kinder word; afterall, it is an epidemic. If someone loses all sense of calmness in a situation, she may be anxious, or actually have a full-blown anxiety order. Words like fat and crazy never come into play as they are seen as "inappropriate."

Flashback to 1863. It was post Civil War and, amidst the abolition of slavery, William Banting, a previously overweight white man, desired to tell the world how he lost weight. He wrote Letter on Corpulence: Addressed to the Public. Banting detailed how he got rid of sugars and simple carbs, replacing those foods with meats, vegetables, fruits, and even the occasional glass of wine. Basically, Banting should be convulsing at his gravesite due to multi-million (billion?) dollar industry is the low-carb craze. Since he was an undertaker and coffin maker by trade, he's probably rolling back and forth in a pretty luxurious coffin.

Low-carb talk aside, I do simply love the word corpulence. It makes me think of Rubens' paintings of full-figured women, Lane Bryant models of the 1630s--- pendulous breasts, sturdy legs, and protruding bellies. Corpulent makes me think of the gopher from Caddyshack. Corpulent makes me think of a mound of mashed potatoes, covered with peas, carrots, squares of subpar ham, and small shreds of cheese. It makes me think of Everything Fried, the short-lived eatery in the Livingston Mall whose goal was to put basically anything in batter and then fry it in large amounts of oil. You'd walk right by Victoria's Secret and then suddenly have the scent of funnel cakes entering your nostrils.

Corpulence is such as "bad" word, but it kicks the ass of "thin," "healthy," or "slender" on any day of the week. 

The jeans whisperer

For me, buying jeans is not an amusing task. Generally, the waist is too tight, so I have to go up one size, but then the increased size makes my backside look flat and there are extra pieces of fabric around my upper legs. I can't wear junior sizes because of my "shapely hips," but jeans for adult females are never really cute and/or sexy. I don't have the patience to try on tons of sizes, washes, and fits. Buying a pair of jeans should not be complicated. We're talking about a fashion item that was created in the late 1800s and popularized in the 1950s. Finding the right pair should not be this challenging.

A few months ago, I succumbed to a pair of Faded Glory jeans from Walmart. The shade of blue has already begun to fade and I'm sure that the jeans will face the same fate as my previous pair from Walmart: riveted button on the waist will eventually pop off (at an inconvenient time--as if there is ever a convenient time for a button fly to detach itself from your jeans) and bottom of jeans will be completely frayed. I'm just not up for the challenge of the jeans scavenger hunt.

Finding jeans for myself is frustrating and irritating; the concept of someone else buying them for me, without me trying them on, seems like a impossible task. Somehow John surmounted the impossible.

On Christmas morning, he bestowed a Gap bag upon me... the man never wraps gifts! Inside of the bag was a pair of size 14 "curvy" jeans. These jeans are amazing and fit perfectly. The denim is a dark wash and the bottoms lightly flare out. It doesn't seem like a big accomplishment, but this man has attained the holy grail of husbandly tasks. The whole situation makes me think of a Walt Disney quote (no, I do not walk around with tons of quotes in my head, but I saw this in a Hallmark store today and I have heard this quote a few times before): "It's kind of fun to do the impossible."