Over the past 6 months, I have pretty much gained back almost all of the weight that I had lot this past year. Things have been...complicated to say the least.
I am now in the largest sized pair of jeans I have ever owned. It makes me mad. And here's the rub:
My jeans KNOW that I hate them. They do. It's wild.
My larger sized jeans gnash their copper riveted teeth at me in response to the constant stink eye that I fling in their direction. It's like my jeans have their own rap star-shiny brass grill (give me a beat!!!).
I don't see the purpose in posting the actual size of my jeans, since some Sparkers might be thrilled to be wearing my current size, and I do appreciate that. BUT that does not mean that I should be happy with it.
This was a giant step backward for me.
I feel as if I am stomping dust and schmear all over reaching my weight loss goal last year.
And these new jeans must be able to read me like a dog-eared book, since they laugh and cackle at me.
It's audible too. See, when I walk in my jeans, they give off an audible, 'scruff scruff' sound.
Within that sound, emanating from my nether region, they tell me that I am lumpy and undesirable.
They tell me that it's not worth the fight, so I should throw in that (workout) towel, and cave in to the inevitable.
And I paid for these larger jeans, which just gets under my skin.
It wasn't easy to bring home my attitude-filed denim. It took some work, like going to a flea market, except I didn't get excited in the end with my purchase.
My first thought was to hit the mall. I tried to keep the walking distance to a minimum though. My old jeans weren't even buttoned up all the way, and it was uncomfortable to say the least. Those poor jeans were so tortured, that they only emanated a wispy whimper sound with each leg swipe. My jeans were sad....
I kept telling myself, it's denim! It's cotton! It's the fabric of our lives, right??? So what's the big deal?
Macy's had no love for me. Not one pair fit right. Everything seemed to be meant for a person with the thighs of a 12 year old boy. When I did manage to find a size that fit, they were practically a foot shorter than I needed. This just wouldn't do. I knew better then to humiliate myself in the juniors section, so I went to Marshall's on the way home. I needed to get the most bang for my buck since I am not able to be on my feet for too long.
My old jeans forced themselves to move as I pushed my cart into the store.
Whimper whimper (the sound of my sad jeans).
My first stop - the candle section. Why? Because I was determined to come home with at least something that I actually liked. I found some gardenia scented candles, complete with fingernail marks and dust on top. I told myself that I could burn away that evidence right quick once I lit them, and chucked them in my cart.
I swerved back to the clothing section and dove in.
The Lee jeans were OK. Not flattering, but OK. The coloring was a bit off though. Plus they were still too short. I tried to talk myself into buying them if I promised to NEVER sit down while wearing them so as not to make it obvious. No dice.
I wandered to the Seven jeans rack. Sticker shock, even a Marshalls! I took one look at the price tag, gasped, grabbed my left boobie for some reason (what was that about???), and backed away from those jeans.
Then I saw some Lucky jeans, on clearance!
They did not leave that strange gap between the crest of my toosh and my lower back. This was a great thing since I was sure that i would need to stash my wallet or something back there to fill that void. They fit.
Now there are exactly two things that I can do in response to the situation that I am currently in (angry jeans and all).
Well ok, there are actually three things I could do, but one of them involves throwing my jeans into the trash and then being stuck without jeans to wear (again). Not smart.
I can either:
A) Let the scruffy talk coming from the denim of my jeans actually motivate me to get out of those trash talking beasts, get back to my Sparkly self, and get BACK to my smaller BACKside.
B) I can succumb to the rhythmic, mind altering scruffing, believe the nonsense and give up. This option inevitably ends up with my then buying even larger sized jeans in the future. Not a good option.
But hey, I'm cheap. I hate to blow $ on clothes I have no love for.
I am fully aware that if I am unhappy with myself, then I will unintentionally make my husband's Iife, and everyone else around me miserable. That's just not cool.
I'll light my fuzzy gardenia candles, meditate on this a bit, and go for option A.
Scruff scruff - for now.