Frank's pants, being worn by Frank. Zeus, imitating road-kill.
I have to share this little anecdote because 1) I obviously have no pride, no shame and 2) it absolutely mortifies Mick, and believe me, it takes a lot of effort and imagination to mortify that man. So for my amusement and Mick's mortification, here you go: Several months ago, Mick's older brother Frank came over to visit and brought three pairs of Levi 501 jeans of his that he gave to Mick. I can't remember if they were too big or too small for Frank, but he thought Mick could get some use out of them. A year ago, Mick could have. But like me, Mick has eaten his way back up in weight.
So, as more of a joke than anything else, because I was hoping for a cheap laugh, I tried them on. Well... They fit. I wear them now. ALL THE TIME. And who got a laugh out of THAT? Not my husband, who gives me pained smiles and sadly shakes his head.
Humiliating? Perhaps. But on the other hand, who am I trying to fool? And besides, I need pants. Pants that actually fit, not pants that either sit on a shelf, in a box, or cut me in half. While I'm confessing, my little sister's inseam of her Levi's is equal to the waist measurement of mine. Meanwhile, weight loss efforts are hampered by an inability to effectively exercise at 5:00 a.m. Nor have I yet been able to accomplish that when I get home from work in the evening, but that is what I am working on.
Currently, I get up at 5:30 in the morning and do yoga and that makes me feel surprisingly human. I don't even feel sorry for myself after a yoga session. I start out feeling like the Tin Man in Wizard of Oz and by 6:15 I'm fully human again.
My fashion challenges remain, though. I have come to realize that I will probably never have a job which requires a nice, professional-looking wardrobe. In fact, over the weekend, I went through boxes that had been destined for Goodwill and removed several items. If I have to play with as much bleach water as I do, and deal with some of the challenging situations that I do, well, I'm afraid that I kind of look like I'm working at the Cold Storage again, but in fewer layers. Honestly, I wish I had a pair of mechanic's coveralls. At least Frank's pants have pockets. My own pants rarely have pockets and the ones that do have pockets have useless, shallow pockets that objects fall out of. Useless.
One good thing about work, it is hard to find the time to eat. And some of what I see and some of the situations I deal with, have the added benefit of being appetite suppressants. I just need to NOT make up for that when I get home at night or fill my weekends with food. I hope (plan) to no longer be wearing Frank's pants by summer. Definitely hoping to be in a smaller size. Meanwhile, here's to my brother-in-law's hand-me-downs.
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