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My mother is a tiny woman.
Her mother was a tiny woman.
I used to be a tiny woman.
If you've been reading along with me from the beginning, you might remember that I posted (at least once) about my struggle to locate a pair of pants that didn't hurt me when I buttoned them. What I neglected to mention is that the problem seems to be that my waistline is getting bigger; not that my pants are getting smaller.
I have no trouble with the fact that I am apparently going to weigh a little more in the last half of my life than my mother or my grandmother. I'm fine with that. What I am not fine with is that I cannot, for the love of all that is holy, find a pair of pants that fits me without them either being way too large or unbearably tight. What is up with the fashion industry that they feel they have to torture women whose bodies aren't perfectly small? Or who are vertically challenged? Or who like chocolate? Or, for that matter, who like to eat?
I didn't understand (and looking back, this was incredibly stupid of me) that when my pants were getting tighter, it might have been because my waist was getting bigger. (Hello! Earth to Chelle! Your dryer is not shrinking your pants. Have you thought about maybe taking a walk?)
Because of the addition of several new prescriptions in the last year or so, all of which have the side effect of weight gain, I have watched the scale creep up, up, up. And now, there is not one pair of pants in my closet that fits me. Literally.
I've heard of living a minimalist lifestyle, but don't you kind of have to wear pants? Especially in the winter time? I'm really not into that whole frostbite thing.
I've been living for the last month or so in two pair of Old Navy activewear capri style pants. They are made of sweatshirt material, but don't have the fleece, so they are bearable even in the August heat. They are also, unfortunately, not pants I would wear out to, say, the grocery store. Or a flea market.
And not only is my waistline getting larger. Apparently, so is everything else, because the only shirts that seem to fit me are Ben's old XL men's shirts with sayings like, "For a minute there, you bored me to death."
Oh, and for that matter, whoever invented high heels and the tie must have also invented the bra. I would like to find whoever was responsible for any and/or all of these inventions and either beat him to death with the shoes or strangle him with the tie or the bra. I'm not picky. And you know it was a guy who came up with these torture devices because women really want to be comfortable. Well, normal women; not the ones you see whose thongs are sticking out of the top of the back of their jeans (which are a couple of sizes too small).
I recently ordered two pairs of those "skinny" jeans from Old Navy and the first pair arrived yesterday. (I can admit this because there were no shipping charges involved. Otherwise, I would be hiding the package and saying to Justin, "Oh no, I've had this forever!") I ordered up. You know what I mean - a bigger size. In fact, I ordered up two sizes from the size I was before my hysterectomy. Guess what? I tried wearing them out to lunch today and thought they were going to cut off the circulation to my brain (which already is having enough trouble functioning) before we could get home. It seemed like the lights were taking forever to change. When we finally got home, I was running up the stairs, flinging things off in a mad dash to get to my comfortable clothes. Luckily, Ben had gone out.
But when I got to my closet, I realized that the only comfortable clothes I have are the two pair of sweats/capri pants and I have to go back out again today. (Here's where I start cursing, so just pick a word, any word...!)
I finally settled on an old, comfortable, cotton, empire waisted dress that I used to wear when I worked with leggings. It doesn't have a waist and it's the most comfortable thing I've had on in, well, I can't remember. Isn't it sad when you are resorting to dresses in an effort to find something comfortable to put on your body? Does it matter that the elastic from the empire waist is not exactly under my boobs anymore?
I am anxiously awaiting the arrival of cooler weather because I have a drawer full of sweat pants. Except they are from two years ago, so I probably should go through the drawer and see how many of them I will no longer be able to wear. Maybe I should just order some bigger sweat pants right now and be done with it.
I will be returning the jeans to Old Navy when the second pair arrives and trading for yet another size up. I mean, the length was perfect. I just couldn't keep them fastened without crying and gasping for air. I wonder what I will wear to return the jeans.
Someone suggested those pajama jeans to me way back when I first started complaining that my pants seemed to be shrinking. Those look very cool, except that they have those weird, flared openings at the bottom that just don't look right on me. If they ever make pajama jeans with straight legs, I am so ordering three pairs. That's how many I need to make it between wash cycles.
And no, I haven't found a bra that is any more comfortable than anything else. But that's a different rant and probably one for which the men will want to leave the room.