Spanish women (this may actually go for European women- I'm not sure) wear tighter clothes than American women. In fact, I think it can be generalized to include all Spanish people, and I'm not criticizing this. I'm merely observing it. Perhaps it's because Spain doesn't have the impressive obesity statistics that American society oh-so-proudly boasts (oddly enough my motherland has huge- no pun intended- obsesity issues but at the same time a ton of body image issues and eating disorders)- I have to say that I haven't seen a single muumuu here!! If I were to go to an amusement park here, I wouldn't be frightened of seeing 400 pound women who need portable oxygen tanks to get around without passing out but who still somehow think it's ok to wear a bikini... as one would see in Six Flags or Busch Gardens, for example. What I HAVE seen here are the tightest jeans ever... I'm talkin' that instead of jeans molding to the butt, the jeans MOLD the butt. The butt is no longer free to be itself, but rather has to conform. It's forced to live under a denim dictatorship.

Granted, the tightness isn't overly offensive to see- they're usually on small people because frankly, Spanish people all seem really tiny to me- especially the girls. I actually took an eye-level picture a couple weeks ago in a bar because I was a good head above everyone else, including the guys. I felt gargantuan. I've never thought of myself as short, but good grief.. 5'7 is not THAT tall. Anyway, tight pants...I remember upon my arrival in Spain two years ago I couldn't believe how tight the guys wore their jeans. I mean, wow. I felt like I should change pants with some guy on the street because his were too tight and mine too loose. When I left Connecticut I felt my pants were fine, but when I arrived in Spain I suddenly felt like I was wearing a circus tent. Guys here wear tighter pants than the Abercrombie-clad guys at home, and the girls.. well.. they follow the pattern just as one would think. Sometimes I think that they must position their pants on the street, and then jump from a 10 story building to get into them. I guess that's a little dramatic, but it's a fun concept, no?

Ok... so this rambling IS actually going somewhere. As I fleetingly mentioned in my last little superinteresting blogging, I bought jeans the other day. What is normally nothing more than an uneventful transaction turned out to be an unexpectedly funny experience. So I went to this place which pretty much only sells jeans. I saw some I liked, but you can't take the size off the shelf that you want... you have to enlist the help of the salesgirl. I know, I know... taking clothing off a shelf IS pretty tricky and demands concentration and highly-trained expertise. I TOTALLY understand and respect the logic... (stupid, stupid, stupid)

So I told her the size I wanted, and needless to say she gave me one size smaller. I thought 'hmm... this is not going to be attractive..." Not wanting to be annoying, I decided that well, maybe she knows what she's doing or maybe the jeans run a little big and she's just trying to save me time. No. They did not run big. At all. In fact, I think they actually run a little on the small side. She was clearly crazy. I proceeded to ask for the next size up (and the size I had originally asked for- imagine that!) and she wearily handed them to me. I put them on and they were good- but barely. Like, I'd never dare to put them in the dryer (not a problem here, as we don't have one) and gaining weight would be out of the question. As I checked out my ass in the mirror contemplating whether to go yet another size up, she came in and was like, 'oh you definitely need a smaller size- those are going to stretch out and be huge'. Meanwhile I'm thinking that either she's seeing people that don't exist and is talking to them or she actually wants me to look ridiculous so she can laugh about it. After a quick glance around confirmed that I was indeed the only person in the dressing room, I said, "no no no, I think this is the size I need." She raised her eyebrows in doubt as if to say, "oooookay but you're going to regret it..." I wondered how she could possibly want me to go smaller, until I noticed that her jeans, of course, were in serious danger of simply exploding off of her body at speeds so high that the button would go bullet-like through 8 store walls and kill the unsuspecting old woman shopping at the tea store down the street...

In the end, I bought the jeans in the size I wanted and am now so fond of them that I think we're having a pretty intense love affair. It doesn't take much to make my day.



In unrelated, random, and useless news, I got a Valentine's day package from mom today and re-realized a few things 1) They should sell those Cadbury mini-chocolate eggs year round. You know, the ones with the speckled candy shell. They're so damn good. 2) I cannot suck on a candy. Take, for example, the Tootsie Pop I consumed today in approximately 1.7 seconds. I just have that necessity to violently CHOMP on it as if it had punched one of my loved ones... even when I say over and over again in my head "don't bite it, don't bite it, don't bite it.. be strong Betsey! See how many licks it takes!" Useless. 3) I love that my parents still send me holiday packages- who cares if I'm 23!