Dressing room confession

I grabbed my hipster sis (bonafide with tats and all) and headed to the Gap last week in search of a new pair of jeans. My current ones are either A) ugly as shit and teetering on the edge of looking like Lee Jeans with the pointed pockets that don't rest on your hips but go all up half your back making it look like your ass is huge and long and disturbing, or B) too big. Now I know that Gap doesn't have quality, but that wasn't what I was looking for really. I needed a transitional pair. A pair that I wouldn't mind wearing everyday for the next two months then throwing away (if I felt too guilty donating them because they were gross and faded and worn). I grabbed what I thought was a size 16 off the rack and headed to the dressing room. Megan, Charlie (in stroller) and I squeezed into a tiny booth and I tried them on. Sweet baby Jesus they fit! I was so proud of myself and so excited to be in fucking Gap jeans that I screamed and whooped and hollered right there in the dressing room, jumping up and down and hugging my sister. I didn't realize until I got home that they were a size 18. Damn.

And of course I look like the above picture in them too.