Skinny jeans

I accidentally titled this "Fat Pants" at first. Not quite what I was planning to talk about, but shows where my brain is.

I have been keeping a pair of skinny jeans. For those of you who don't know the term, "skinny jeans" refers to a pair of pants you bought or wore when you were at your thinnest. They are the most flattering, slim fitting pants you ever wore. And, if you're anything like me, you got to wear them once before you got too fat.

I still have them. I've been keeping them in a box with two obscenely short skirts, a few backless tank tops and a bikini.

I once had a body I was proud of. Now? Not so much. Now I have a belly I can make loud noises with if I pat it loud enough. I want my old body back. The one I had that I thought was too chubby. The one I worried about when "well-meaning" relatives suggested I had enough ice cream as I was starting to get chubby. The one with smaller boobs, but with a nicely rounded tummy that hadn't moved to an entity of it's own. I no longer have that body. I miss that body. I think of it fondly as I complain about back fat and being able to rest my elbows on my stomach rolls.

While unpacking the last box for my bedroom, I found my skinny jeans. I had used them to wrap something breakable and now they are cleaned and sitting on my dresser looking at me.

Is now the time for reality? Do I admit to myself that the body I had at 24 no longer exists and likely never will again?? Or do I hold on to them like love letters from a boy in elementary school. Do I give them away to someone else? Someone who has a perky butt and little tummy and thinks they are fat? Can I give up the dream?

I should admit to myself that I am 31. I eat crap, I work crappy shifts and I am stressed to the max at all times. I only exercise because otherwise the dogs will annoy me and I prefer to do nothing if at all possible.

For now, they sit on the dresser and stare at me. While I eat chocolate and regret growing older.