The Boyfriend Problem

I have major Boyfriend issues. I hate that I love the Boyfriend and that the Boyfriend apparently hates me. Why can’t we get along? Why aren’t we compatible? Why oh why does the Boyfriend make me look like the super-sized Mayor of Munchkinland? Why do all the cool girls have Boyfriends but I can’t find one?

Here’s how my whole Boyfriend relationship has gone down. I first spotted the Boyfriend hanging out in various windows and in multiple Christmas-time advertisements. I fell in love.

The Boyfriend is super cute and casual in that “we can go anywhere and do anything together” sort of way. The Boyfriend is all about sexy comfort. The Boyfriend can be bad-boy cool and good-girl groovy. And, best of all, the Boyfriend loves shoes of all types. Want to show off a pair of fun heels? The Boyfriend agrees this is a grand idea. Want to wear those swingy tie-up oxfords that I’ve been saying for a year now will come into vogue and wah-lah, they’re all over the place now? The Boyfriend is all about the oxford. The Boyfriend is also all about a retro bowling shoe, a platform sandal, or a pair of penny loafers. The Boyfriend is flexible. And when you’re feeling bloated and your skinny jeans are in the corner of your closet mocking you for trying to stuff your water-ballooned calf through the stove-pipe leg, the Boyfriend smiles and says, “I love you just the way you are. Don’t change a thing. Don’t take a Pamprin. Just come on over here and I’ll take care of you.”

I started flirting with the Boyfriend around Christmas. I went to the Gap first because their classic bootleg jean always works for me — we’ve been good friends for like forever. Little did I know, the Gap had changed its entire line of jeans and now there were all of these new cuts and lengths and names for the cuts and lengths that left me dazed and confused among the uniformly-folded piles of denim. I found the Boyfriend but the Boyfriend and I did not, repeat, did not make it past the first date. We barely got out of the dressing room without an argument. I tossed the Boyfriend on the table and the dressing room attendant asked “did anything work for you today?”  I said no politely. What I didn’t say was, “Of course nothing worked out. Your entire jeans line is made for women who are apparently related to Stretch Armstrong. Does anyone in your design department understand the concept of 5’2″ and UNDER? Oh, and did I mention that your idea of low-rise might need further inspection because these barely covered my crotch?”

But I wasn’t ready to give up on the Boyfriend just yet. The Boyfriend had so much potential. I was sure I could “change” the Boyfriend or “save” the Boyfriend to make it fit me. I went to the Loft, the place I always end up when I need pants because they have a petites section, made for those of us who weren’t blessed with height or long legs. Here, the Boyfriend was already hanging out with the mannequins, looking all cool and chic. Damn mannequins. They have all the fun.

I had my choice of three Loft Boyfriends here. The Loose Fit Boyfriend was slouchy through the hip and thigh (good), had a relaxed leg (even better) and surely drove a Cutlass Supreme, listened to the Who, smoked cigarettes, and was no stranger to detention (best). I grabbed three different sizes. Then there was the Casual Boyfriend with distressed details and a leaner silhouette. Oy. This kind of Boyfriend was not going to be my type. Too high maintenance with this fancy and “lean” thing going on. Does the Boyfriend not appreciate muscular thighs? And then there was the Railroad Stripe Boyfriend which sent me whirling back to the early 80s or maybe even late 70s when jeans were pinstriped. Sorry Striped Boyfriend, you’re too much like some of my past Boyfriends. Really, it’s me, it’s not you.

For better or worse, I’ve turned into my grandmother and I tend to pop into the Loft and a few other places frequently enough that the salespeople know me. In fact, one of the women keeps asking me to come work for them, even though I usually walk out without purchasing anything. So, I try on one Boyfriend after the other and none of them are the right size. The right size, it turns out, is on the mannequin. Thinking she’s going to have a sale, the salesperson removes the Boyfriend from the mannequin so I can try it on.

Epic fail. Even that Boyfriend isn’t cooperating. The damned Boyfriend is too big in the waist, too tight around the ankles and I look like some sort of oddly-shaped character from a Dr. Seuss story. This is not how the Boyfriend and I are supposed to look together. We are not making a cute couple.

I trudge back in the mall Boyfriendless and head to Macy’s. The scene there is no better. I go to Banana Republic and New York & Company before giving up. Maybe the Boyfriend and I just need a little retail therapy, I think. Maybe we just need to agree to disagree.

Maybe…hmmmm….maybe….I can turn one of my good friends the Bootcut jean into the real Boyfriend. I mean, me and the Bootcut? We’ve been friends forever.  We know everything about each other. We’ve been through the rollercoaster of weight gains and losses together. Maybe the Bootcut would make a good Boyfriend after all.

When I get home, I sort through my jeans drawer and pull out a few of my fave pairs. I roll the prescribed 1″ to 2″ Boyfriend cuff. I look in the mirror. I look like I’m waiting for the flood waters to recede.

I curse the Boyfriend. Who needs the Boyfriend anyway? We all got along just fine before the Boyfriend came along and ruined things. I don’t need no stinking Boyfriend messing up my stuff.

I am just going to be happy without the Boyfriend for now because you know, whenever you’re not really looking for a Boyfriend is exactly when the perfect one shows up.