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would take any pants with a zipper right now that fit the antitheses of the Skinny Leg. They don't make "fat leg" pants though, probably wouldn't really sell. I'm not really sure who they are trying to kid with their "Curvy Fit" style, either. If you aren't Skinny, you must be Curvy, but I apparently don't fit the idealized concept of Curvy, either.

It's bad, but I see these women with humungous asses and they have these jeans that fit them fabulously and I don't want to be the bitch that walks up to them and asks where they find jeans to fit their huge thighs and asses with tiny waists and short legs. And that is what I would be; a bitch. It is the way of womanology-unless you are a best friend, you don't let on that another woman has an ass larger than your own. It is a backhanded compliment, and not even a compliment either because I know if someone asked me, I'd toss my bag of organic blue corn baked tortillas with no trans fats and low saturated fat and high fiber with decent protein and flax seeds and low calories that I spent 30 minutes in the snack food aisle choosing, because I wouldn't feel good about the question. I would feel like a defect; the giant in the room who everyone wonders what kind of specialty store services giants anyway?

At one time, I thought Calvin Klein was on my side. And while I don't believe he has forged a complete path to the dark side (I was able to squeeze into his Skinny Leg pants, even if I couldn't bend my knees once in them and admittedly, it was a pair of pants taken into the fitting room in error. They were Skinny Leg and talls-the complete double whammy of a dressing room faux pau) his pants are no longer like slipping into a second skin.

Willing to play one day, I thought I would try J Lo jeans, because if anyone understands having jeans fit, it would be J Lo. But she apparently employs Twiggy as the one to cut her fabric. I've never been able to succumb to Applebottoms it just isn't in me to wear something with that name.

A few days ago, I thought I would give up jeans in favor of yoga pants, but after seeing a photo of myself in yoga pants this morning, that simply will not work. If I thought the photos of my jean adorned legs were rough, the yoga pants were a brilliant disaster. Perhaps it was the contrast of white pants with a brown sweater, or the angle of the camera, or the fact that I was in a church basement, uncomfortable with the "revival" occurring very loudly from the chapel next door in which they were discussing the burning of pagans. I can't really count anything out, especially because I love the white yoga pants and feel very powerful wearing them-thighs or not.

Learn more about this author, Nikki Barr.
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