A Tale of the Traveling Pants

Keeping my eye on the prize.  And the glare!

I’ve noticed something odd during the last three-and-a-half weeks.   As I read the numbers on the scale, it’s really like watching the floors change in an elevator car.  But during the last year when I was on the way up, I zoomed past the numbers, because apparently I was in the express car.  I think I even skipped some floors on the way up to the Penthouse Suite (which isn’t NOT the floor I wanted; and I don’t care what kind of gift basket is on the bed.)  But for the last few weeks, the ride down has been so…………….slow.  I spent a whole week on one floor.  So excruciatingly long, that I pulled up a chair and had time to read ‘The Help’ again.

However, suddenly it’s May.  I can't believe I'm saying this, but as of yesterday morning, I have moved down a total of eight floors.  I may be taking the stairs up just one level tonight, because my husband brought home a bagel.  That’s okay.  I can spend a night one floor up, for old times’ sake.  I heard there’s a killer view.

Okay, enough of the metaphors.  I have a story for you. 

Yesterday, I decided to be kind and treat myself to a new pair of shoes, because to buy clothes for this moving elevator car, well, that would be foolhardy.  I don’t plan to fit in any set of clothes for more than three months.  Don’t laugh.  I dare to dream. 

So, anyway, I tried the mall.  I realize it’s been awhile since I bought shoes.  I noticed that I had to do a lot of bending down to try them on.  The boxes of Size Nines are always wedged tightly like the bottom brick in an ale house wall and so I really had to work up a sweat to pry them loose.  Kneel, stand, walk, judge, re-wrap the shoes in their protective plastic papers, try to fit them back in their box like a wooden ‘Let’s-Test-Her-IQ’ puzzle, and then shove the torpedo back into its ill-fitting tube.  Now I know why people shop online…it’s too overwhelming to handle the mechanics of a shoe purchase, while also trying to make a critical fashion decision.  This is made even harder when you can't bend very well at the waist. 

Anyway, during this little workout, I didn’t realize my stretch jeans had been busy trying to keep up with me.  And perhaps, even though it would be a dream come true, my jeans may actually be too big now. 

As I walked through the long aisle to the register, (my hands weren’t free because I had store swag to hold), I felt a small draft near my caboose, but not in a good way.  As I walked, my jeans were slowly sliding south with each step.  Just slow enough that I could calculate reaching the register if I changed the width of my stride.  Not length…..width.  So yes, your visual is correct.  I looked like a walking swing set. 

I could have done it, except I didn’t factor in my underwear.  Apparently, they were in the fast lane, and my eyes widened at this new discovery.  I walked with my legs even farther apart to slow down the migration. Good gawd hips!  Where are you when I need you?  My hips are usually too big to pass between a chair and a wall without scraping off paint, so you’d think they’d come in handy to hold up the waistbands of my clothing.   They did not do their job of keeping my pants up.  They failed every step of the way, because once the pants scaled the gentle rolling hills that are my hips, the pants and unmentionables had only one direction on their mind…..Florida. 

As in FLOOR-ida.   I felt like the circus lady who tries to walk while keeping two different sized hula hoops spinning in different areas of her body.  I developed a new walk that doesn’t even have a name yet, but I’m sure it got faster and raunchier the closer I got the register. 

When I made it, I wanted to yell SAFE!!!!! or BASE!!!!! because I was able to dump the cargo on the counter.  Before too much damage was done, I seized the waistbands of both sets of pants.  Just like a stuntwoman grabbing the hands of a buddy who was dangling from the door frame of her fleeing helicopter.   And, cut. Print.  That’s a wrap folks.  

I’m not really sure what the security cameras caught, but I don’t care.  If this is the price to be paid for the hellish month of weight loss I’ve been through, so be it.  I am very happy with the 42nd floor of my 50 floor descent.  I sure hope they sell clothes on this floor, because I guess I need some new ones.  For the sake of all you good people and your visuals.