Denim: a love story

let me bore you all with a story about denim. 
once upon a time, I discovered a pair of bootcut jeans. Though not hugely fancy, they were nice looking and looked good on, so I took a pair home in my usual size 14, which fit me perfectly. 

sadly, as denim sometimes does, these lovely jeans gave a little, leaving me slightly saggy bottomed. in vain, I tried tumble drying them, but the benefits were short lived. 

so, a month after the initial purchase, and with the knowledge of their 'give', I trekked back to the shop to see if I could lever myself into a 12. oh, the obscenity! flesh spilling in all directions! however, they did up, so I took them home, intending to wear them around the house until they became more socially decent. 

Three days of sleeping in them led me to defeat though, and I resigned them to the cupboard and got on with wearing my saggy bottomed friends. 

another month passed, and my distaste for laundry caught up with me. disaster! no clean jeans to clad my *kitten* in! in desperation, I began flinging items from my wardrobe, when my gaze fell upon the cast-aside jeans.. could it be possible??
possible! Those babies slid on as if cast from my own thighs! delight abounded, as I acknowledged my success in attaining the jeans size that I accept as my minimum.. strangely proportioned upper thighs have always meant that sizes smaller than 12 are a mere daydream. 

until today. say hello to my new, size 11 jeans! same style, three and a half months later!