I enter the dressing room with two pairs of jeans, hopeful. The skinny model, the flared one and a classic high-waisted one. I sigh, the mirror looks at me mercilessly and the neon light doesn't help. I unbutton my pants, the shirt rises up showing my belly that's a little too overhanging. I look at myself sadly, I've gained weight.
I put on the first pair, the skinny one. I immediately feel that they're going to be a problem. I struggle to pull them up, they slip into the folds of my skin and tighten at the waist. I manage to button them but at what cost? The seams are pulling, the fab...

I enter the dressing room with two pairs of jeans, hopeful. The skinny model, the flared one and a classic high-waisted one. I sigh, the mirror looks at me mercilessly and the neon light doesn't help. I unbutton my pants, the shirt rises up showing my belly that's a little too overhanging. I look at myself sadly, I've gained weight.
I put on the first pair, the skinny one. I immediately feel that they're going to be a problem. I struggle to pull them up, they slip into the folds of my skin and tighten at the waist. I manage to button them but at what cost? The seams are pulling, the fabric is taut. I turn in profile and jump. I look like a sausage! No way, these are definitely too small.
I move on to the flared model. These are better, softer on the hips. I can button them without problems, but they make my legs look short and stubby. Also, the waist is too low and my belly is a little too overhanging. I feel awkward and out of fashion.
Disappointed, I look at myself in the mirror. None of the pairs fit me. I feel fat, old, and out of shape. I walk out of the dressing room with my jeans in my hand and hand them back to the sales assistant with a tight smile. "They don't fit, thanks." As I leave the store, I feel the sales assistant's eyes on me. Maybe I should go on a diet, I think dejectedly. But then I remember that I have a pizza date with my friends. So let's go on a diet!

Entro nel camerino con due paia di jeans, speranzosa. Il modello skinny, quello a zampa e un classico a vita alta. Sospiro, lo specchio mi guarda impietoso e la luce al neon non aiuta. Mi slaccio i pantaloni, la camicia si solleva mostrando la pancia che deborda un po' troppo. Mi guardo con tristezza, sono ingrassata.
Infilo il primo paio, quello skinny. Sento subito che saranno un problema. Fatico a tirarli su, mi si infilano nelle pieghe della pelle e stringono in vita. Riesco ad abbottonarli ma a quale prezzo? Le cuciture tirano, la stoffa è tesa. Mi giro di profilo e sobbalzo. Sembro un salsicciotto! Niente da fare, questi sono decisamente troppo piccoli.
Passo al modello a zampa. Questi sono meglio, più morbidi sui fianchi. Riesco a chiuderli senza problemi, ma mi fanno sembrare le gambe corte e tozze. Inoltre, la vita è troppo bassa e la pancia straborda un po' troppo. Mi sento goffa e fuori moda.
Delusa, mi guardo allo specchio. Nessun paio mi sta bene. Mi sento grassa, vecchia e fuori forma. Esco dal camerino con i jeans in mano e li restituisco alla commessa con un sorriso tirato. "Non vanno bene, grazie".
Mentre esco dal negozio, mi sento gli occhi della commessa addosso. Forse dovrei mettermi a dieta, penso sconsolata. Ma poi mi ricordo che ho un appuntamento con le mie amiche per una pizza. E allora che dieta sia!