What I didn't know was that nineteen years would pass, and I'd still be carrying it.
After years of fanning myself with the bathroom scale, I hit my all time non-pregnant high a couple of years ago and stayed mostly steady. Since I wasn't working outside the house, I didn't try hard enough to get healthy.
About the time I decided to get serious, using the MyFitnessPal app, I dropped a couple of pounds and gained a new job. A job that required business attire. And hose. And dress shoes.
Being plus and petite does not make for a good time at the mall. Add in a modest budget that doesn't allow for off-the-rack purchasing, and you'll understand my pain. I managed to put together a halfway decent wardrobe, but I still didn't feel confident in my appearance.
|Photo Credit: Google Images|
My current favorite pants are a charcoal grey, cotton, and have a neat but slight sheen to them. They just feel good on. I bought them months prior, even though they didn't fit well, as a goal for myself. Plus they were marked down 75 percent, making them less than ten bucks. I even hemmed them. Myself.
I wore them a couple of weeks ago then I washed them. I agonized whether I should dry them. They are 98 percent cotton (and oh-so-soft). On the other hand, cotton clothes are a pain-in-the----- to iron out the hung-dry wrinkles.
Convenience won over practicality.
Knowing I was taking a chance on shrinkage, and we are six-days post Thanksgiving, I worried they wouldn't fit today.
They did. With extra room to spare.
(Thank you MyFitnessPal and lack of snacks.)
I was oh-so-sassy today with my fancy charcoal pants, black cowl-neck sweater, black heels. Hair, despite having been freshly washed, laid perfectly. Cute grey and black dangle earrings completed the ensemble.
I stopped in Target before heading to work. Walked all the way to the back of the store - electronics - then over to peruse the books before leaving. I sashayed my way to the front, feeling slim(mer) and confident. About twenty, maybe forty feet before a checkout lane I noticed a woman just staring at me. I smiled. She continued to stare, not returning the gesture.
At the end of the main aisle, just before I turned, she finally quit looking my direction, and continued on with her business.
Inside the car, I grabbed the seat belt, and that's when I felt it.
My pants were unzipped.
I suddenly imaged her having a conversation with her friend over coffee:
" You are going to love this. You know that dark-haired chick at the bank? The short one? I don't think she's been there long. Well, I saw her today at Target. Girl was all 'click,click,click' in her noisy little shoes like she owned the place. The whole time her pants are gaping open at the zipper with each step. 'Help me, help me.' I was cracking up. Honestly, how does one forget to zip her pants?"
My mortification over my discovery lasted about as long as it took for me to post a status on Facebook and get a Diet Coke at Sonic. Within ten minutes, I was at work, sassy and confident.
But the security department probably had a good time watching our cameras today since I probably checked my zipper once or thirty times.
Just in case.