The Curse Of The Skirt

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I can talk about this now.  The crisis has passed, but I’m still feeling a bit traumatized.

It has become a tradition for Emily and I.  We wear skirts all summer.  As soon as the weather warms up, Em and I ditch our pants.  That includes shorts.  As any woman knows, there is a particular sense of freedom in wearing a skirt on a warm summer day.  Our skirt wearing has nothing at all to do with being fancy.  Not at all.  Sure,  I wear skirts to work that are professional-looking.  After work, though,  or on the weekends, I wear a skirt much like any old pair of shorts paired with a tank top or a t-shirt.  Skirts are cool and airy.  They are flowing and forgiving.  Oh…and yeah….your butt can get pretty big under a skirt, and no one will notice, not even yourself.

As the weather became cooler, I began to think about blue jeans, khakis, my usual work  pants.  After a day of shivering in my office due to my bare legs, I went home and took an inventory of my closet.  As I looked through the long pants, I decided that I better try them on before I decided what to wear the next day.  Lola was in my room “helping” me.  When I tried on the first pair, she started laughing.  I was trying them on to check of moth holes or rips.  I wasn’t expecting what I actually found.   “Mom!  It looks like you painted those on your legs.”  Oh boy, out of the mouths of babes! I tried on one pair after another.  None of them fit me!

OK, I should not complain.  I know that.  I am not overweight in the least bit.  I NEVER step on the scale, and I NEVER watch what I eat.  In fact, it’s not uncommon when I order a mocha to tell them to make it with as many calories as possible.  Well, all of that caloric freedom had caught up with me.  A six-pack of Pepsi everyday probably hasn’t helped either.  After failing to find a pair of pants that didn’t look like I belonged on a street corner advertising a booty call, I ran downstairs to the bathroom and stepped on the scale.  10 pounds!  I had gained 10 pounds since the last time I weighed in.  When had that been?  Probably six months ago.  How had I not noticed this change?  I went back upstairs and hung up all of the now-too-small pants.  I had no choice but to continue to wear a skirt at this point.  I would be warm enough if I took along a sweater.  Ah…..  Skirts.  Skirts were my downfall.

After a day or two of mourning my large ass, I decided to talk to Em about the matter.  We were shopping, just the two of us.  I said, “Em, I can’t wear pants!  My butt has gotten too big.  I didn’t even know it was happening!”  She looked at me, and her mouth dropped open.  She admitted that she had the same problem.  We both said, “Damn skirts!”  We discussed it.  What were we going to do?  Buy bigger pants?  Wear tights?  We could wear skirts all winter with tights and a pair of great looking boots.  We refused to buy pants in a larger size.  That would be admitting defeat.  We didn’t want to buy “fat butt” pants.

That was a couple of weeks ago.  Many miles on the elliptical, fewer mochas, fewer Pepsi’s, and I am proud to say that I wore a pair of jeans last weekend.  OK, they were not as comfortable as last time I put them on, but at least I was able to zip them up!

I’m sipping on a Pepsi as I write this.  I’ll never give that up, and I refuse to drink diet, but I am learning moderation.  I think it’s about time.  🙂  Moderation in Pepsi.  Moderation in mochas.  Moderation is my new word.  I think it is high time that I applied a sense of moderation to many areas in my life.  Does this mean that I am growing up?  I sure hope so!