More Nordstrom Anniversary Sale haulage--the clothes.

Before we get into it, remember, I bought boring shit. OK?

So OK, there were the bras. Which I totally wish were still in stock in my size at that price, but oh well. Then there were some jeans. I've been whining about how I need new ones. My last pair expired from a terminal case of chub rub, so I popped for new ones.

KUT from the Kloth

'Diana' Stretch Skinny Jeans (Blinding)

I can hear you yawning from here. But hey—here's something exciting—some cropped pants!

I finally figured something out about cropped pants. I mean, I couldn't figure out why they had become such a Thing, because, really, is the sight of everyone's ankles such a treat?

But then it dawned on me—when your pants are cropped, you can wear any shoe you want. Heels, flats, flatforms, Birkenstocks—whatever your ride, a cropped pant will work. Admittedly, in a leg-stumpifying, awkward-flash-of-ankle way, but that's the price you pay for not having to buy pants in two different lengths depending on whether you plan to wear them with heels or flats.

Anyway, I've had good luck with Lafayette 148 New York, so I ordered these

'Irving' Stretch Wool Pants

They're OK. Not great, but good enough. I mean, my ass is not the stuff of poetry, so pants are never going to look amazing ... but the fabric is nice--wool with a little spandex to keep it from sagging. I'm concerned about the length, because it's possible that on me, they look like normal pants that are too short. I JUST DON'T KNOW. Being old and out of it really sucks at times.

And finally, this dress. Which, I know. St. John knits—how bougie old lady. But I can't help it. First of all, when it comes to the Gilmore Girls, I'm Team Emily.

Second, Mr. Buxom and I have decided to go back to Europe this fall--Vienna, Salzburg, Innsbruck and Munich—and I'll need something to wear to see Figaro at the Vienna State Opera. And as my post about meeting Hillary Clinton makes clear, those St John knits are eminently packable. I plan to wad this dress up into a ball, stuff it into a carry-on, and then, voila! Dazzle the audience at the opera.

P.S. Notice how the dress is plain over the bodice and gets busier towards the hem? Those St. John people are not stupid.

Have you tried shopping for jeans lately?

This post is illustrated with pictures of the kind of jeans you couldn't pay me to wear. I'm sorry, Macy's.

I don't mean to whine, internet, but I'm in a fix.

I had three pairs of Gap mid-rise skinny jeans, and one sprang a hole not far from the crotch. If it had been the knee, I'd have thought about patching it, because I have yards of denim available—at any moment, I can put my hands on three or four pairs of jeans with shredded knees that my son has left in a drawer in his room. He'd never miss one pair, and I could cut one up and use it to patch the others.

OH MY GOD. Am I think about doing a craft? (Better back away from the Pinterest.)

But really, nothing shouts "CHUB RUB" like jeans with a patched crotch. So I threw them out.

At any rate, when I realized I had only two pairs of jeans left, I thought I thought I could hit up the Gap website and order a couple of new pairs. Except they didn't seem to have my style.

Did you know that the Gap puts dates in their jeans? Upon further investigation, I discovered that my jeans date to 2012.

Not my old jeans, available at Macy's for $249

So then I started browsing websites. I realize that for normal people, the fit of a pair of jeans is right up there with the fit of their bras. In fact, I've seen many a woman who could stand to ignore her butt and spend more time and attention properly supporting the girls, but that's another post.

For $199, I'd prefer that jeans jeans arrived home from the store sans rips

I've been ignoring my butt for years. When I was in my early twenties, a boyfriend of mine informed me that my ass was as flat as a wallet with no money in it. This didn't bother me particularly, because J. Lo hadn't been invented yet. And anyway, I was too busy being self-conscious about my bust and tummy to worry about what was going on behind me.

I'm an hourglass who, when she gains weight, turns into an apple. And now that I'm well into middle age, my tendency to to put weight on in the stomach, waist, and bosom has only increased. Still, the flat butt remark was true then, and can only be said to be more true now, when my lack of estrogen makes me even less likely to store fat in the hips, thighs, and butt.

I'm pretty sure a glimpse of spider veins was not what the designer had in mind. $199 at Macy's.

For descriptions of the apple shape and the best tricks and tips for dressing it, click here. It's all solid information and depressing as hell.

Unfortunately for me, as long as my butt is covered and there aren't handfuls of fabric draped off of what's left of my ass, I'm happy. 

I've already complained about bad clothes paired with great shoes. YOU'RE NOT FOOLING ME, MACY'S.

But honestly, finding non-stupid-looking age-appropriate jeans is a challenge.

I already know about NYDJ, but when it gets warmer—and it will, even though it is snowing at the moment—on April 8th, mind you—I find them a bit too girdle-like for comfort.

I'm probably going to have to to wander into a brick and mortar store, so feel free to recommend anything at all. What about Old Navy? Any jeans styles there for the flat of butt?

For want of a nail

Right around the time we start thinking about wearing sandals in Chicago, I managed to drop a toolbox on my left foot, and gave myself an owie on my big toe.

The results were just as unattractive as you'd think. I had quite a bit of bruising, and I broke my big toenail. It looked ghastly. It's better now, but I'm off pedicures and sandals and all that wonderful summer stuff until it's  grown out. Toenails grow really slowly, and I'm expecting to make it all the way through the summer without wearing sandals. At least, when I'm trying to look good.

It hardly seems fair. Here I am, not even half way through my fifties, and I've discovered another body part that, out of consideration for my fellow man, really should be covered up.

I mean, it's not like I was looking for work as a foot model, but my feet were OK. People didn't point and stare. But now my toes have joined my upper arms, thighs, buttocks, etc., etc., as body parts that must remain hidden, if only out of politeness.

And I've discovered something. What they always say is true; your shoes really do determine your outfit.

I went through my summer shoes and discovered that they're pretty much all open-toed. I have some pumps and slingbacks that would work for summer, but I didn't have anything that would work with casual pants.

I started shopping. I looked for ballerina slippers, because that was the one closed-toe shoe I could think of that wouldn't be hot or heavy looking. I got some subtle, non-logo-centric Tory Burch ones

and some loud, logo-rific Chanel ones

and these Prada driving shoes, but in beige.

But when I got my new loot home, I realized I didn't have anything to wear with them. My new flats looked completely stupid with every single pair of  pants I own (except--maybe--the bronze woven Tory Burch ones with my cargo pants rolled up.) The rest were all too long and too wide for flat shoes.

So I bought some skinny jeans. I know. Skinny jeans and Poppy shouldn't appear in the same sentence. But you can't wear ballerina flats with bootcuts. Your pants can be cropped, straight, or skinny, but not flared.

I also bought a pair of J. Crew Minnie cropped pants. They're OK. (Actually, they're J. Crew's most popular style. But on me, they're just OK.)

So here I am, with three pairs of shoes, two pairs of pants, and nothing to wear.

Stupid toenail! Grow! So I can wear my sandals.