Help me! I'm stuck in the Urban Outfitters changeroom!

It's not that I have big legs, but I don't have twigs.
Usually, my legs are only a problem when I'm trying on knee-high boots. They're often made for girls who:
a) Weigh 102 pounds;
b) Have no muscle in their calves;
c) Have an hour to try and squish/push/pull your calf fat/muscle into your boots.

I have muscular calves. Taking up running a few years ago didn't help the situation much, but recently I learned a new lesson in why sometimes (not very often, but sometimes) it can suck to be fit.

I loved the years from around 1999 to 2005 because pants and jeans all had a flare at the bottom. I've watched enough of What Not To Wear to know that a longer pant, with a little flare elongates the legs and for someone who's 5'4" like me, that's nice. Now though? For the past couple of years, we've had skinny jeans – and I'm not sure why. Very few people look good in skinny jeans. Even skinny girls don't look good in skinny jeans. Skinny jeans are like sausage casings; they squish everything into a wrapper and then your body tries to escape the torture by squishing over top of the waistband, out the butt and at the inner thighs.

But today, for some reason, I thought I'd try them again. I've lost eight pounds in the last month and evidently, when I lost the fat, I lost my brain and became delusional. I was in Urban Outfitters - the cool store for all the Queen's University girls. It's the place you want to go if you want to have that I-look-like-everyone- else-but-I'm-so-original - swanky meets Salvation Army thrift store.

(I was exchanging a gift. I had to go in.)

I saw a pair of skinny jeans that were on sale from $100 for $39 so I thought I'd try them on. The waist was 30 - my size. And, so, in the changeroom I went. (Do you know that at Urban Outfitters they ask you your name and then write it on a chalkboard so they know who's in what room? Next time, if there is a next time, I'm going to call myself Jonas Brother No. 1 or Mary-Kate and Ashley, or Miley or She-Ra or something.)

I went into the changeroom and pulled off my jeans and slipped my first leg into the skinny jeans. And then the second. And then I pulled them up to my knees. It was here that I realized even if I took one thigh and sliced it into two, half a thigh wasn't going to fit into these pants, so there was no way a whole thigh was going in.

And there was no way my calves were coming out.

I was stuck.

It was like these damn pants had congealed to my legs. What was I going to do? Waddle out of the changeroom with pants around my knees and ask them to cut them off? I could always pull my own jeans over top and just pay for the skinny jeans. (And then waddle out of the store.)

How was it I could get them on, but not off?

I sat on the bench and tried to roll them down. Stuck.
I tried to yank them down. Stuck.
I tried to smooth them down. Stuck.

Finally, I held both ends of the pants and tugged on the left side of one leg, then the right, then the left, then the right. And, I'm telling you it's possible: Instead of thinking about sucking in my stomach, I thought about sucking in my calves. And bit by bit, the jeans started to move.

This is why girls like to buy shoes.

Skinny bitch of a day.