The case of the dad pants

As a young lass traversing the awkward halls of middle school I not only felt the heinousness that accompanies this wretched stage of life, but I also had the benefit of being chunky. Double whammy. It didn't matter what I wore in middle school, everything somehow looked terrible and was accompanied with a nice bout of teasing. Apparently I didn't start wearing a bra soon enough and got teased in the locker room. Told you I was ready, mom. I didn't start wearing deodorant soon enough and got teased in English. Told you again, mom. Yes my mom literally said I was too young for deodorant. I wasn't too young according to the boys who pointed out my sweating problem. Thank you for that one, dad.
At any rate middle school was the pits, pun intended. Being chunky came with a whole slew of problems besides not looking good in anything and sweating a great deal, I never could seem to find jeans that fit. And when I did, I somehow had gotten a lil chunkier and the jeans produced a sort of inner tube affect with my stomach, not cute, and then I refused to wear them anymore or go up another size. It was my way of showing those jeans who was boss. Until high school when my aunt pointed out I had such a sporty style. Um, I wasn't sporty by choice, I was "sporty" because that meant a lot of elastic waist bands. Now I get to be a hippy because that means a lot of dresses and leggings, which, yes still have elastic waist bands. Oh, elastic, I will always be true to you.
Anyhow, so one day, I was rummaging in our basement that doubles as a laundry room for our family of about 8 people at this time, tearing through the heaps of clothes that belong from everyone ranging from dad to littlest sibling, trying to find something to wear to school that day. One of the lights was burnt out and it was still dark outside due to the fact that I had to be up at the crack of dawn for middle school, another huge point against that time in my life. I spotted a pair of jeans that looked a little bigger than mine. I instantly became hopeful. Maybe this was a mystery pair of perfect jeans sent from the heavens to fit my growing pudgy frame and make my life a little less tease-worthy at school? I quickly slipped them on and realized that yes, yes they fit! With room to spare. I had never had that happen before. They did seem a little baggy in the crotch region but I disregarded this on my high of having a pair of jeans slide up over my hips, first try with no sucking or squeezing in my gut.
I ran up the stairs, threw on a sweatshirt and into my dad's waiting car to get dropped off at school. Now let me also point out, that my family is not like most families when it comes to waking up rituals. If my boyfriend comes to stay for the weekend and sleeps on the couch, come 9am on a Saturday morning, it is still as quiet as a Monks workspace in the whole downstairs as every child and adult is still snug in bed. We really like our sleep in my family. This is to say that when I ran out the door, the house was still relatively dark as I gave myself no extra time for frivolous things like eating breakfast or doing my hair in middle school, or high school, um and most of college. Gosh, I wonder why I got teased.
So can you imagine what happened when I got to school and walked into those brightly lit fluorescent hallways? Well I strutted my stuff for a few steps feeling that today would be a tease-free day as I wasn't wearing floods (pants that were too high, I'd made that mistake before too) I had the appropriate amount of deodorant on and was indeed locked into a bra. It should be smooth sailing I thought bordering on cocky, thinking I looked so good in jeans.
I looked down again to take it all in, me in my sweet jean clad body, with no overflow of stomach pooch, when I suddenly realized something terrible, the reason for the too large crotch area that I had disregarded earlier, the reason these jeans were a little baggy, these weren't mystery miracle jeans given to me by God, these jeans were my dads!
Oh no. Oh no. Oh no, I thought as I ran to the bathroom to inspect in a full length mirror. The horror only intensified in there. Yes. They were clearly mens pants. They weren't particularly stylish. My dad is stylish for the record, but his job is to drive trucks, so he doesn't glam up for that. They were baggy, shapeless, saggy-crotch man jeans that horror of all horrors actually fit me! I was chubby enough to comfortably wear my father's jeans to school. In the sixth grade. Granted they looked hideous and did nothing for me, but they didn't fall off. I required no belt!
And here's the thing, my memory of this stops there. In the girls bathroom. I don't know if I was teased so mercilessly that my mind has blocked out the memory entirely or if God offered me a free pass because he clearly wasn't offering up free jeans, and the kids looked the other way that day.
Either way the shame of realizing I not only wore my fathers pants to school one day in the sixth grade but that they actually fit me well enough to wear them to school has stayed with me for life.
Let this be a cautionary tale for all young girls who suffer relentlessly through middle school. Know that middle school will never improve, sorry it is a prerequisite for life to endure the drudgery that is sixth grade, you'll be better for it, but also know that at least you probably have enough sense and understanding of fashion not to wear your dads pants to school.