A zipper is no friend of mine!

Ladies, I’m here to tell you that you are being oppressed. You are being oppressed by something very close to you. Right up against you, in fact. No, it’s not your husband/boyfriend/partner/dog. Look down. That’s right. It’s your zipper.

 

There’s no reason for a woman’s pair of pants to have a zipper fly. We do not pee through that thing. It is anatomically impossible, unless you like the look of urine drips down your levis. We like to make fun of women who have a “muffin top” and the dreaded “camel toe.” It is not their fault, it is the fault of ill-fitting, unforgiving, zippered pants!

 

After I had my son, I simply could not fit into regular pants. I had a pair of velour sweat pants (that I bought from Sam’s Club – horror!) that I wore to the grocery store, to yoga class, to the office, to a performance, to Christmas parties, and to bed. Now that is a versatile pair of slacks!

 

But alas, if I was going to be a respectable member of society, I needed a pair of slacks. With a zipper. When I finally did get up the nerve to try on a pair of pants. I went to Target, bought the largest size that I could stomach and took it home. I couldn’t bear to see my bumpy post-baby body under the fluorescent lights of the department store dressing room. So I took them home, shut the door, shut off the lights, pulled the shades, closed my eyes, and tried them on. I said goodbye to my dear friend the velour sweat pant and squoze myself into the unforgiving demon denim. Here comes the zipper. Nope. And how about if I stop eating for three weeks, pull my panties up to my navel, and stop breathing. Success!

And then I started to lose more and more weight, I wasn’t small enough to go to the size down so I just wore a long shirt over the ill-fitting pants. We had some friends over for dinner one night and I reached down to pull a bowl out of our cabinet and bingo! Coin slot!  And I’m not young, No one needed to see this.

 

Ladies, why do we put ourselves through this? A woman’s body below the waist is not a plateau, or a prairie. It is a mountainous, unpredictable, treacherous region; the border between Pakistan and Afghanistan. Terrorists could hide for years in there, never to be discovered.  It is too complex for a tape measure, or simple sizes like 10, 12, and 14.

 

So what is the solution you might ask? Ditch the zipper, and bring back elastic. Elastic moves and forms to those bumps and curves. That’s right. Stop torturing women, stop keeping us down! How about a wide elastic strap at the top of our jeans? And bring the damned waist up for god’s sake. I want that shit up to my belly button.  

 

Elastic is in, and zippers are out!