Magic mirrors and the pants I'm unsure about

One of my best friends in the whole world is the full-length mirror in what is now L's room. It used to be the "guest room" but if we're being honest, it was really my dressing room. It was also the room where I'd go to hide from D for a bit so I could read. I don't know what it is about me reading, but it triggers memories of all the conversations D has ever wanted to have with me but forgot. The minute I crack the spine of a book or magazine, D suddenly wants to have a million conversations with me. So I used to go to that room to escape.


Now the only place I can go and escape to read for a bit is the bathroom. When L was a couple months old and I was still on leave, I would pretend that I had to go to the bathroom and go upstairs and lock myself in the bathroom with a book. Sometimes I'm certain that those random respites were what got me through the first rough three months of new baby-hood.


But back to my best friend. The mirror that hangs in L's room is amazing. We're.....involved. I call him the Magic Mirror and he calls me Dahling. He is so kind and complimentary. Whenever I go visit him, he tells me I lost 10 lbs.


"Dahhhhling, you look fahb-u-lous!!" he coos.


"Oh, go on," I blush.


"No, no dahling. Have you been working out? You did not just have a baby 5 months ago! Work it girl!" (I can't figure out where he's from. He starts out sounding like a sophisticated Frenchman and ends up sounding like my gay husband from the Bronx.)


But it all seriousness, this mirror is awesome. I always look amazing in it. I don't know what it is. Even when I was like 5 seconds post-partum and had to try to look decent at L's baptism. That whole thing was an unfortunate event. Magic Mirror told me I looked 10 lbs lighter, but the pictures from that day told me I looked 10 lbs heavier so I figure that on the actual day I appeared 20 lbs total heavier than I originally thought. But I don't mind if MM lies to me. He gives me that shot of confidence I need to get out the door and hold my head up high.


Unfortunately, I think he steered me wrong recently. I'm always trying to force myself to branch out when I go shopping. Usually I fail. Shirts and sweaters and stuff, I'm not too bad about. I'm not opposed to most colors (except yellow, which even MM won't pretend to love on me), and I don't have a hard time branching out to different patterns or styles.


It's the pants that get me. I'm sooooo boring when it comes to pants. For work pants I prefer black, occasionally grey. Jeans I prefer medium to dark washes, bootcut or trouser style. I do own a pair of skinny jeans, and probably a flared leg in there somewhere. But for the most part, I don't branch out. I like khakis and brown pants, but I don't really care for any of the brown shoes I own and never want to buy brown shoes when I'm shopping. It's a vicious cycle. I never buy brown pants because I don't have brown shoes and I never buy brown shoes because I don't have brown pants. My college girls will tell you how horrible I think it is to mix brown pants with black shoes or vice versa. Horrible. If you do this or have done this, please stop.

Anyway, I was at The Gap (one of my faves) and I stumbled across a pair of straight-leg off-white cords. They were the fancy line of Gap pants (1979 or something) and were on clearance for $13.97. Plus I had an additional 20% off. I didn't try them on because I didn't have time (I know, I know. Big mistake).

So I got home and tried them on. They actually fit, but were a little tight. I put them away for when I lost a couple more pounds and forgot about them. Fast forward to Monday night and a few more lost pounds later. I was in crisis mode because the hem of one leg on my go-to work pants (basically the only work pants that even remotely fit me at the moment) had come undone in the wash. I wore fancy jeans yesterday, and didn't want to wear jeans two days in a row. I went upstairs to try to find a pair of non-jean pants that would work and stumbled across the cords.

I put them on (slightly more comfortable now) and went to visit MM.

"DAHLING! So good to see you! Smoochies! MMM girl you lookin' fine in those cords! Look at you all branchin' out and workin' the different color! Look at those legs all skinny and long-lookin'!"

"Do you really think so, MM? I'm not so sure.... But now that you mention it, my legs do look rather long and skinny..."

"Dahling would I ever lie to you? Don't answer that, just look at how a-MA-zing you're lookin'!"

So it was decided. I'd wear the cords to work. I paired them with a light green button-down tunic-type shirt thingy that adequately covered my butt (with a body like mine, I have to wear longer, looser shirts over skinny pants because if I don't I end up looking like a Bob Evans sausage in a fabric casing). I ignored the fact that the tunic tends to make me look pregnant and resigned myself to knowing that it was the only shirt that both matched and concealed the junk in my trunk.

Of course, I had to check myself in the bathroom mirror when I got to work this morning. This mirror is MM's evil fraternal twin. His name is Jerkface Mirror. Jerkface Mirror hangs out in ugly fluorescent lighting and makes me look awful. He is gruff and mean and says things not suitable for posting. This morning was no exception. He basically told me I looked fat, awful and that my shirt was not cool enough. He teased me about the way the corduroy made swish-swish sounds when I walked down the hall. He made me deeply regret the pants.

So now I have these pants. I'm not really sure about them. Despite JM trying to make me rip the pants off my body the second I arrived home and throw them in the fireplace, I still kind-of like them. But I kind-of hate them, too. I don't know. Maybe if I had the right shirt.

I do know, however, that Magic Mirror is a great friend to have. So if I ever decide to wear the pants again, I'll check with him to see what he thinks and then I'll avoid mirrors for the rest of the day. Especially Jerkface Mirror. Because Magic Mirror's is the only opinion that really matters to me.