“Want a beer?” my husband asked me on his way to the fridge.
“No thanks,” I replied, “I stopped drinking.”
“Oh, when did you do that?” he asked.
“When my pants stopped fitting.”
Since my back injury, the only thing I’ve been able to work out are my jaw muscles as I chew on pizza. The caloric benefit achieved from chewing has proven insufficient to pack my rear end into my jeans. Thus spawning a slew of New Year’s Resolutions that I’ll forget by February, in two weeks, tonight.
Since the weight gain, dressing in the morning closely resembles the mating dance of a whooping crane. I slither one leg into the sausage casing of denim then the other. Next an elaborate series of squats ensues to work the pants up my legs. When my jeans are above my knees, I begin side leg lifts and butt wriggles to work them over my thighs. Finally, with the aid of a shoehorn and butter, I manage to slide my rear end into the pants.
Buttoning the pants requires focused breathing techniques employed by the most advanced yogis. First, I take several deep cleansing breaths to prepare my mind. When I am focused and ready, I envision a charging bull. It is a strong, powerful bull, fit in body and mind. It runs with the courage of generations of bulls before it. It’s hooves tear up great clods of earth as it thunders along. I’m in its cross hairs. I know fleeing is futile. I brace myself. The bull slams into my mid-section whooshing all the air out of my belly, up from my lungs and out through my mouth. The instant my air whooshes away I wrench the tops of the jeans together and button them quickly while the wind is still knocked out of me.
Two words, Nora. Pajama Jeans. I’m kidding. I would not want you or me caught dead in those things. I am inclined to wear a pair of dark wash Calvin’s with straight legs as a fashion statement from time to time, along with stilettos of course. But I really am not crazy about the jean fabric. I like softer materials next to me. Unfortunately, the things I like to wear the most are sweatpants, and we all know how cute those are on us, even with the stilettos. They leave something to be desired. No beer, huh? Well, fine, but just tell me you’ve switched to gin. A Bombay Sapphire Martini is positively reducing calories.
Ha! I cracked up imagining you in sweatpants and stilettos! It’s true though. I’ve sworn off all alcohol, *sobs*. I’m also doing low carb which is more like moderate carb so far but I figure anything is better than eating oven pizza twice a day and chugging Woodchuck Cider. God, I love Woodchuck Cider. I’m going to stop talking about Woodchuck Cider for fear I’ll dash out to the store and buy a six….damn it. Be right back!
Woodchuck Cider is the bomb.
Linda stole MY comment.
Two words: PAJAMA JEANS.
I have them, I love them, I wear them all the time. And then you can KEEP drinking your beer!
There are really pajama jeans? (This is what happens when you avoid the mall.)
Oh, you cannot PAY me enough money to go to the mall. I bought them online!
They are real. And they are awesome.
See:
http://mommamiameaculpa.com/the-good-the-great-the-grand/
OH! MY! GOSH! I must get a pair!
Meleah AND Linda stole MY comment. Actuallym what I was going to say was, “But I bet your pajama jeans still fit,” but I think it’s Nicky that’s got the pajama jeans (along with Meleah and others).
I do not know how to wear pants, so I only wear skirts and dresses. They fit real good over my big belleh. Most of my skirts have velcro, so they are easy to wear and glamorous, too!
Daisy, my cat Smidgeon has a hoodie. I’ll have to find the picture of him wearing it. You might have some fashion advice for him. (He got it off a teddy bear.)
Wearing pants is overrated, drinking beer is not. Confucious said that. Or was it Confused that said it? Either way, it’s true.
This is cool…like some kind of urban nature film. *flaps wings and shakes claw*
Happy weekend!
Anna
Add an elusive house cat stalking me from amongst the pillows on the bed and that’s about it!
The memories flooded back as I read this post. In my youth, I looked like I’d been poured into my jeans, they were so close fitting. It was the only way to wear them then. Now? I wear stretch jeans only. Comfort overrides all
The worst part is that those jeans used to be loose fitting.
I know the feeling!
Nothing worse than jeans that don’t fit.
I love your use of the term “sausage casing of denim.” So accurately describes what it’s like for me too. I use the jumping up and down method to get into mine. Although they should be looser-fitting when I put them on today, since I just started a radical short-term diet where I lost 5.2 lbs in two days. I saw a video of myself last week and that’s what triggered dieting mayhem. Wish me luck. Desperate times…..
Wow! I may need to use that. The holidays were not kind to my waistline. Good luck!
Hahaha. At least you haven’t used a hanger to pull up your zipper! I know all about the deep knee bends
Well, no. Not yet anyway!
On the bright side, it sounds like you’re getting a really good workout from getting dressed every morning.
That’s true! I should have freakishly large muscles after all of those squats!
…which might be why it’s so hard to get into the jeans. That and the fact that they’re shrinking, of course.