I’m a very loyal person. When I was a junior in high school, I turned down a date for prom because I thought a friend wanted to go with him. (She didn’t.) (Oops.) I find a brand of chocolate chips I like and buy them until the company goes out of business – then I mourn. I’ve been wearing the same brown Gap sweater since 2001 and you’ll have to wrest it off my cold, dead shoulders. When I find a pair of jeans that fit and make me look five pounds thinner (if you’re female and wear clothes, you recognize this as the wardrobe coup it is), I wear them until they disintegrate. Then I buy the exact same pair five years running. (One might say that’s less “loyal” and more “tenacious enjoyment of digging my heels into very deep ruts.”)
What Are You Talking About This Time, Woman?
If I had a quarter for every time I’ve exclaimed about Twitter recently (with accompanying enthusiastic hand gestures), I could retire to the Maldives and eat grilled baby dolphin all day. But I have to say it again: Twitter is the portal to all things great and good. A few months ago, the lovely Justine found my Twitter account and asked if I wanted be a Gap Brand Enthusiast. I wouldn’t have even known what that meant, were it not for Holly’s Nintendo Party last year, where I unrepentantly hogged all the jelly beans (and got a free DS Lite that tells me my brain is about two minutes away from death). So when I got Justine’s message, I may have done a little happy dance. Which may have knocked over a stack of post-it notes and maybe a mug of six-hour-old coffee.
As this position doesn’t require diplomacy or mastery of astrophysics, and does include inviting all my friends over to paw through a massive selection of Gap jeans, my answer was a very eloquent, very professional, “SIGN ME UP.”
Witness the Mayhem
Lo and behold, my dear pal Kristin got the same gig. So we pooled our guest list and threw a soiree with enough cheese to keep an army of goats employed, s’mores brownies, and FREE JEANS FOR ALL. Also: Wine. Because alcohol is essential for any activity where women are forced to contemplate their thighs. And may I say that EVERYONE’S THIGHS LOOKED AMAZING. Observe:
Leah, EIGHT MONTHS POST-BABY. Yes, that deserves all caps. Because DEAR LORD, WOMAN. Did you sell your soul to Lucifer? Does he need more souls?
Holly, who just needs to be on billboards already. I mean, COME ON, LOOK AT HER.
Kristin, who – aside from looking smashing in her jeans (WELCOME TO THE DARK SIDE, DRESS GIRL) – saved my tail by offering her house for our party. My wee apartment can’t fit more than three people at a time, much less half a Gap store.
I was too busy pretending to be a good host to pounce on the stacks quickly enough, and still need to swing by a Gap store. (I’ll post a picture when I do. If I think of it. And if the cheese and my vanity allow.) But I expect to find a pair that looks as good on me as these do on everyone else – extra cheese notwithstanding – and that will herald the official shift in my loyalty. SOMETHING THAT IS VERY HARD TO DO. I HOPE YOU’RE SATISFIED, GAP.
Friends who would prefer a root canal to jeans shopping found pairs that fit and quickly squirreled them away. Friends who, like most of us, have proportions that defy the usual Barbie doll sizing didn’t have to sacrifice a waist that fit to accommodate the lower half. Everyone ate cheese. In short, everyone was happy. And that made me happy.
Here’s the good part: I have a $50 Gap gift card to give away. So leave a comment by Friday, and I’ll choose a random winner. If you need comment inspiration, allow me to suggest a nice haiku.