That time has come again. I am down to three pairs of pants I know fit. Well, one pair that is so baggy I have to belt them, a pair of yoga pants, and one pair that fit nicely. I need to go through all of the jeans in my closet to try and find a least one more pair that fits. The weather is warming up here, and so I begin to flip through my light-weight jeans, the ones hanging up fit a few months ago. At least I think they all fit.
Will they fit now? Do I dare try them on? First I have to decide if I can afford to spend the rest of the afternoon pouty with a bruised ego, because let’s face it after trying on the second pair of jeans that don’t fit, I will begin a downward spiral of deep pouting, hiding in a book, and getting nothing done.
It’s sad, yes I know, but hey . . . nope I don’t have anything witty to add, it’s just sad.
I can hear you “Um,hey, Alica how about getting rid of the pants that don’t fit and buying some new ones?”
Okay that sounds reasonable, but I’m a writer. Reasonable isn’t really what I do. Anyway the ones that are WAY too small are packed away and the ones in my closet will fit when I lose a few pounds. SNORT and how long have I been saying that?
Also, buying new pants means spending money on clothes at a size I’m not happy with,and that makes the pouty turn into bitter angry resentment, which is worse, trust me.
So I flip through my jeans and pick out a pair I remember wearing a lot last summer. Holding my breath and sucking in my tummy (like that helps) I pull them on.
Woo-hoo! happy shimmy, I turn away from my closet. I won’t press my luck. One more pair to wear is enough right now, and who knows maybe all this working out will pay off and next time my closet will seem a little less like Hell.