As a kid, I always had riding tights, a stable of t-shirts that were thirteen kinds of screwed up by the time I grew out of them, and a french braid. In winter, I had the lined riding jeans.
These days... yeah, um, since I'm not elbow-deep in neon pink Swat for three months of the year and can pick and choose when I clean tack, I'm not nearly so hard on my clothing. That tends to mean I wear whatever rises to the top of the laundry basket that morning and yesterday's jeans, because the horses aren't gonna care.
|Witness my stunning couture. And a variety of faces ranging from "laughing" to "concentrating" to "I'm going to murder you for making me stand in the heat because you forgot how to walk on lead."|
Really, the only thing I want is a good pair of half-chaps that doesn't cost an arm and a leg... and the other leg... and three fingers... In my much-thinner-than-now days, I was a M in calf height and an XL or XXL in calf circumference; it hasn't gotten smaller.