Yesterday I took the kids to Old Navy for the first time in like an eon. Old Navy is my most favorite clothing store ever in the world and I learned years ago that I pretty much could safely go there never because when I walk into an Old Navy store it’s like I’m a little kid on Christmas morning again and everything is mine. Except that nothing is wrapped. And I have to pay for all the stuff myself. And I’m not in my pajamas.
I had no choice but to go to the Old Navy store yesterday because my jeans of 8 years were on their last legs and they are my favorites and I can only get them from Old Navy. I had tried ordering a pair from eBay and even though they were the same make and model with the same materials on the tag they were not the same jeans. They were odd fitting and not quite long enough and I freaked out just a little bit because I thought that Old Navy had maybe changed their sizing and I would never again find my perfect jeans. Rabbit suggested I go to the Old Navy store because he has had some memory loss apparently, so with his blessing I did it. I went to the actual Old Navy store and after a few minutes I was overwhelmed so I texted him.
Me: At Old Navy store. Awesomeness overload. Can’t think.
Him: Mind blown. Pull it together!
And pull it together I did and then, like magic, I found my perfect jeans which means somebody on eBay is selling Old Navy’s second quality jeans as first quality jeans. I also found some other clothing that wasn’t jeans and I have no guilt about this.
And the jeans I bought for Joe don’t fit him like he said they did when I made him try them on in the store. We got home and he went to wear them and I was like, Joe, those jeans look a little tight on you. He replied with, Yeah, a little, but I thought they were loosenable.
So now I
get to have to take them back to the store and exchange them.
Update: Apparently my blog has now decided to do things on its own and it published this post without approval from me before I had even finished typing it so now you’re probably wondering what in the heck I meant by my title. This is that story.
Kait always says she’s 5’6” and I’m always like, That’s impossible because I’m 5’6” and you’re about an inch or so shorter than me. But while we were at Old Navy she measured herself on their measuring stick thing to prove to me that she was, in fact, 5’6” and I was like, Maybe you’ve grown and are finally the same height as me, but she was like, I’ve been 5’6” for like a year now, so I slipped my shoes off and measured myself and, low and behold I’m 5’7”. When I was measured for my drivers license when I was 25 I was 5’6. And I was 5’6” when we all measured ourselves and marked it on the wall about 5 years ago. And my sister’s mother-in-law saw me this past Christmas and remarked that I was taller than she and her daughter had remembered.
So I’m still growing. At 36. Apparently.
And I love my new jeans.
And Old Navy is da bomb.