Love Letter to My Low Rise Jeans

Dear Low Rise Jeans,

We met at Express. You were really expensive, but as soon as I felt your poly-denim blend and slipped you on, I had to have you.

You coexist nicely, dipping low enough to stay out of the way of my expanding creamsicle belly. I promise I will find enough long maternity shirts to cover my new Wal-Mart panties that show above your plunging beltline.

You bend and move with me, you are stretchy and elastic and allow my less-than-flexible joints freedom of motion, so that when the lecherous old man from work reaches out his hand to touch my stomach, I have enough confidence to plant my feet and say, "Make one more move, and I will break your hand."

Love, me.