I'm about to tell you something no woman should ever tell anyone. Or at least something that women never do seem to divulge. Its gonna be good news, which this blog is due for after my "bad night" routine. Here goes nothin...
I'm a size 12!!! Now mind you this is a far cry from the smallest I've ever been, I used to be a 6, I have the pants to prove it. But, considering where I started, this feels oddly normal.
Here's how this came about. I'm going on vacation in a couple weeks and my pants look like I am trying out to get into a local gang, a little thug-ish for my style. But, at the very depths of my soul, I am a cheap ass, so by golly I'm gonna get my money's worth. That, and I like people telling me my pants are getting big. Sick, I know. Today, however, I had a coupon for a local clothing store that I like to buy jeans at. So, off I went. Now, I NEVER try stuff on at the store. Something inside me has decided it is weird and humiliating, and I would rather be humiliated at home. I estimated in 2 weeks I should be able to squeeze my fat arse into some 12's. I found 2 pairs that were lacking in bling, I am so over the bling, and I took them home. After my evening activities, I did the unthinkable, I tried on my pants, 2 weeks early, and they fit. Not just fit, because fit to me means I can lay on the bed, suck it in, say a prayer, and use a coat hanger to get the zipper up. Nope, these babies slid right on with me vertical, zipped right up, and didn't create any additional fat rolls.
I always want to hold the people's heads under water that say "nothing tastes as good as being skinny feels". But today, albeit I'm a far cry from skinny, it felt pretty darn good.
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