I don’t know why on earth I didn’t just try on the jeans called “Sexy Boyfriend” the first time I saw them, but it took me all the way round the outlet mall and twice into Gap to decide they might be worth a fling. Possibly the name put me off, I dunno, ya think?
Turns out, a sexy boyfriend is exactly what I was looking for. (Sorry, honey.) They’re not quite as light a wash as I was envisioning, because the light wash was “distressed” and I’m really not prepared to buy my jeans pre-holed; but apart from that, they’re perfect. For the first time in my adult life, practically, I have jeans that are not bootcut or flare, but that make me feel like me, not someone pretending to be what they’re not.
(I mean, I did have stonewashed jeans with little zips at the ankles when I was 13, and I was quite happy with them, but we’ve all moved on since then. I’ve grown as a person. In more ways than one.)
I know all these attempts to blend in will only work to a degree. I’ll probably still look like an American. I’ll still be orbited by two children in America-bright clothing with America-twang accents who do not know the meaning of “reticent” or “indoor voice”. There’s only so much I can do, especially when packing for city and country and beach, for rain and wind and sunshine (maybe) and temperatures fluctuating anywhere from 45 to 75 F.
The exams are due to start soon, which means the weather will be lovely. But the exams will be over before we get there, almost totally, so then there will be no guarantees any more. Because everyone knows the only way you can guarantee good summer weather in Ireland is to be sitting the Leaving Cert at the time.
I’m not even going to tell you about the perfect summer bag I didn’t buy yesterday. If it’s still there tomorrow I might decide I’m fated to buy it after all. This is how I shop. It’s not exactly military precision, it’s more like faint auguries and operating on instinct.