I'm a big fan of combinations, like soup and sandwich. Peanut butter and jelly. Spaghetti and meatballs.
You may detect a pattern.
Carbohydrates are the leitmotif.
Or maybe the heavy motif.
One combination I never thought of is jeans and moisturizer. Lucky for women, marketing has thought of that for us!
You may have read the news story reporting that Wrangler is selling a line of jeans that embeds microcapsules of moisturizer in the fabric, which evidently explode on impact with your thighs and moisturize them.
I think this is an awesome idea. I often fantasize about things that would explode on impact with my thighs, such as Bradley Cooper.
It gives new meaning to the term thunder thighs.
The line of jeans is called Denim Spa, quite a combination right there. Denim and Spa are two words I have never experienced together.
Like love and marriage.
But to stay on point, Wrangler markets three types of moisturizer jeans. One comes embedded with aloe vera and another with olive oil, but choosing between the two is a no-brainer for me. I wouldn't pick aloe vera, because she sounds like someone I went to high school with and I don't share jeans.
I'd leave the aloe alone.
Instead I'd pick the olive oil. If I added balsamic, those jeans would be delicious.
But only extra virgins can wear them.
Count me out.
Come to think of it, if I were going to infuse jeans with food, I would go with Cinnabons.
Extra frosting is more fun than extra virgin.
The moisturizer in the jeans lasts up to 15 days, but Wrangler also offers a "reload spray" that you squirt your pants with. I'm not sure I'd buy the spray. It would be cheaper to pour olive oil on my pants, like a salad. I'd dress them properly, before I got dressed.
But the third type of moisturizer jeans are my favorite, and they're called Smooth Legs.
I need Smooth Legs. I have only Scaly Legs and Hairy Legs, or a combination of the two, which is Scary Legs.
The amazing thing about the Smooth Legs jeans is that they not only moisturize your legs, they fight cellulite.
According to the website, the way they do this is by a "special formula" embedded in the jeans, which contains "caffeine, retinol, and algae extract."
By the way, a special formula is not the same thing as the secret sauce, which contains mayonnaise.
Why fight jeans that fight cellulite?
I wouldn't. I'd be scared. They can "reload." I wouldn't buy them without a background check.
If you ask me, fighting cellulite is a lot to ask from a pair of pants, much less clothing in general, and you've got to hand it to Wrangler, which charges a mere $150 for a pair of these hard-working jeans. That's only $75 per leg or approximately $.03 per cellulite dimple, if you have 2,928,474,747 million dimples, like me.
In fact, I just got another 4,928,749, in the time you took to read that last sentence.
In my experience, cellulite comes only in packs of 4,928,749.
I wouldn't mind having a pair of pants that fought cellulite for me, which would be like having a lawyer for my butt.
This is because I don't spend any time fighting my cellulite. On the contrary, my cellulite and I have an arrangement. My cellulite agrees to stay on the backs of my legs, thighs, and tushie, and I agree not to look at myself from behind.
This turns out to be easy. Because I always move forward and never look back.
Metaphor not included.
In truth, I've come to accept and enjoy my cellulite. I can amuse myself by playing connect the dots on my thighs or finding constellations on my butt. For example, my left rump sports not only the Big and Little Dippers, but also the Serving Spoon, the Soup Ladle, and the Cake Knife.
The best thing about the moisturizer jeans is that all that grease must make them easier to get on. But being menopausal, I might need more lubrication.
Like motor oil.
Come to think of it, I won't be buying the moisturizer dungarees.
They're not worth dung.