It’s March. I’ve lost a few pounds. And these damn leggings are still taunting me… so, here we go!
I’ve been blasting away at the gym like a mad-woman. I’ve dropped 10 pounds. I’ve omitted several bad food, sleeping, and an overall whatever- crap habits I can think of – to toss to the wayside. What’s crazy is that my food isn’t super terrible to begin with; but, for whatever reason it was most definitely time to toss up what I know and start with a blank slate. Goodbye cheesy potatoes. *sniff sniff
Now, you may notice that at 141 pounds, I was poofy. I’m not that tall. You’re not? No. And hush, my acting resume assumes me taller. Oh, and yes, I shoot taller in photographs for some reason too. Which means, proportionately, for photos, that’s freaking awesome! Uh, the point? Right. Anyway, any extra weight that may decide to stick around will immediately show itself. So, goodbye puffball piggy! Time to toss those frozen deep dish singles. I’m down to 128 lbs now. Only took you months -upon months- to do it. Quiet – shit takes time. I’ve got about 10 more to go; but that’s a personal goal that is taking longer than I’d like. Patience, daniel-son. Karate Kid reference? Yup.
Having a bout with a bit of stress at the end of last year. Or rather for an entire year. No biggie. Got past it; but, definitely added to the weight issues plaguing my existence. Regardless, those damn skinny leggings are calling out to me once again and I may be in a fairly strong mental place to handle it. *fingers crossed
Lies. I came. I tried them on. I couldn’t handle the pleggings fitting disaster. The new one.
The old one too! Thanks.
But, definitely not the new one. How depressing. Wah. I’m starting to think its the design of said pant. I’m a curvy/athletic silhouette and these are shaped for the stick figures. The skinny fat girls. The girls with brittle bones. The scrawny – girl, go eat a burger – types. The less than shapely; but more child-like frames. We get it. Okay good. I’m just an average sized, healthy broad with killer hips and thighs, man! Why can’t you pleather stretch pants show me some LOVE?!
Just a little bit? She’s dying over here. I’ll love you forever…. *batting eyelashes and offering up an ice cream cone
Bats ice cream cone to the floor.
And with that rant being both unnecessary and likely annoying …
Let the pleggings pull up begin.
There’s a lot of grunting and groaning going on there. Yeah, shut up.
Everything all right over there? Ugh.
You gotta be freakin’ kidding me.
Argh! I… hate… you… pleaaaather!
These pleggings will be the death of me.
Trust me, I did my damndest to make the picture angle, stance, and height the best version of itself that it could be… to a big FAT fail.
Fool me once, pleathers.
Damn you.
I’m quite certain at this point that there is literally NO coming back from these ill-fitting trousers with an ax to grind. My thighs will NEVER consider these pleggings to be one of importance in my wardrobe again. Oh, the bravery.
Rewash them? Um… thank you, next. The likelihood of them fitting even better – sarcasm – after yet another wash? I’ll take my chances at the zoo, with my head in the mouth of a hippo.
There’s your bravery… Hush.
So yeah, I could be overreacting. Emotionally.
Very Likely.
But, if you haven’t had a tussle with an article of clothing, you haven’t truly lived. I’ve had underwear decide it wants to move away from its placeholder. I’ve had a scarf try to strangle me while bent over looking for shoes in the closet. I’ve also had a closet organizer dump all the clothes it held, onto me when I wasn’t paying attention.
Why does the common denominator all seem like it’s you?
Quiet down. Stop interrupting.
And with that, I take a moment of silence, and toss them in the donate pile. *insert sad music here – Until I see another pleather option that will work well with my body type. Til the sky swoons and moves mountains – *looks around, is that a violin? – As the wave of the ocean breeze – Alright. That’s enough. You’ve lost it.
Oops, went on a little vacay there… Back to reality. Shame on me.
I’ve been fooled twice by you, pleather pleggings. Twice now!
Shame. On. Me.
