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| Why oh why? |
| 02.20.09 (2:55 pm) [edit] |
Once upon a time my pants stopped fitting. My jeans were unusually snug. I figured my legs were still damp and that explained the painted-on look. But, I started worrying when I was required to actually look at the button and buttonhole in order to fit them together. I got them on. I could breathe. I could walk. But... WTF! I thought, how the hell did I gain thirty pounds overnight? Wasn’t I just wearing these jeans last week? Oh God. These jeans were loose last week. So loose my butt crack showed and J laughed at me. Now my butt crack doesn’t have the capability of wandering out of the top of the jeans, but the tightness is probably creating lower back cleavage and that’s worse than butt crack special appearances, and shit I’d better put on a shirt just in case there is a hidden camera in my bathroom. What if there’s some sicko who broke in and put one somewhere? Did he see me naked? Did he see my lower back cleavage? Emily! You have an overactive imagination. Nobody can break in when you never leave the structure of this house. Okay, good.
You know, I couldn’t fit underwear under these pants if I wanted and I’m squeezed so tightly the excess me will spill over the top and I’ll look like a giant bran muffin walking around. Bran muffins are gross! This sweatshirt isn’t going to cover it up! Or maybe it will but I’ll be all baggy on the top and then have Kenny Chesney legs. OH MY GOD. I look like Kenny Chesney. I’d better just shave my head and find a cowboy hat. Everyone’s going to laugh at me. I’m the female Kenny Chesney. But I won’t be able to wear form-fitting muscle shirts because I have no muscles and I’m not sure if I shaved my armpits and my boobs will probably fall out the rather loose sleeveless region and the shirt will show off the bran muffin situation. Crap. I’m going to have to start writing songs about piña coladas on the beach and tractors and women I once loved. I don’t like piña coladas. I don’t like sand. And I don’t know how to drive a tractor while being sexy and I haven’t been in love with a woman. I don’t know if I can even get on a tractor in these jeans. And if I sit on it while driving I certainly won’t look sexy because of the muffin situation. I wonder if I can stand up and drive a tractor. Maybe that’ll look even sexier because I’m totally in control of that machine and I’m not scared to stand while driving.
I could even dance. I could probably dance in these. I should get out of the bathroom and get started on those things or these pants will never make sense in my life. Maybe if I do some lunges here and there they will go back to their normal size. Lunge lunge lunge. If I was a dancer I’d wear spandex all the time and these pants wouldn’t feel so weird. Maybe I should stop putting my jeans in the dryer. It’s probably not me at all. It’s the dryer. But how could the dryer make my jeans look like leggings? Hey, remember those leggings that looked like jeans in the 80s and you wanted some? Shit. Now I have some. But below the knees is all baggy so it’s a dead giveaway that I’m a fat ass and these aren’t some cool retro pant resurrection. Well, at least now there are some wrinkles in the thigh area. Maybe that disguises the situation. So I left the bathroom and prepared to leave the house. I was standing on the porch stairs waiting for the dogs to finish their business so I decided to do some more squats. As I was squatting I studied the bottom of my pant leg. Something’s wrong here. How did these jeans get to be this color? They look strange. Maybe I bleached them. God they’re tight on my thighs. Maybe it looks good. Nah. Good thing I don’t have a full-length mirror. I’d probably be forced to find a muu-muu to wear over the jeans if I saw my ass. How did these jeans get so strange? How did this happen to me? WHY GOD WHY. And then I realized I was a dumbass. I was wearing J’s Wranglers. Actually, that’s not true, but it made for a better story. The truth is that I’d somehow managed to find and don a pair of jeans I wore several years and several pounds ago. Jeans that are two sizes smaller than the ones I thought I was wearing. The good news is that I can get those pants over my ass and button them. The bad news is that the initial crisis destroyed my already teetering self-esteem by making me think I was fatter than ever, that I was now Kenny Chesney’s female counterpart, and that I would somehow be required to learn to sing, write songs, dance, drive a tractor, look sexy, and fall in love with a woman. Actually, that’s a lie too. It happened yesterday, but I’m still all shaken up about it. Clearly, the bad news is that I have a lying problem. And that I need to reconsider my love affair with junk food so that those jeans might actually work over underwear. If I had any that is. Hi y’all. I missed you.
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posted by: mimi (reply)
post date: 02.21.09 (10:53 am)
OMG! How funny are you!!!!!!
xoxoxo
posted by: appleseeds (reply)
post date: 02.21.09 (11:09 am)
Reply to: mimi
THANK YOU!
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Why oh why?
