Paint me a pair of denims....

I get it from my mother. She liked clothes with a bit of room. I too have gone for clothes that create air and space around a frame that has self-upholstered with each passing year.   Swathes of upper garments have concealed the waistbands on jeans which have been incontrovertibly tight. 

So when I found my trusty denims sliding around my waistline, I embraced the rosy glow of a plan that was taking shape. 

For a month I enjoyed the strange phenomenon of my jeans sliding down so that I resembled a geriatric hoodlum with my crutch creeping to my knees. No visible Calvin Klein waistband visible, however. Not even the famous granny pants in evidence, as they too joined the inexorable slide down. I'd hoik them up, of course, dismissing friends' claims that they were now far too big. I savoured this process until Dearest who NEVER notices anything, remarked pleasantly about my builders' bum. 

Well, that did it. I cannot be having that at this time of life. So I said farewell to my Plumber's Bum ( I prefer the assonance...) and accepted the offer of some smaller, tighter-fitting jeans, from my daughter.

The ultimate thigh corset (not my body)

So now, safely sausage-skinned back into a pair that does not allow deviation, or donuts, I will remain focused on my pursuit of the mini-bum.