Thursday, November 28, 2013
After writing this, I have gone back and realized how long it is. You don’t have to read this. It was mostly for me. To write about this part of me that I keep avoiding.
Gawd where do I even start? I’ve been putting off writing about or dealing with this aspect of my life for so long that I don’t know where to begin. But he has had such an influence on where my life went the past 4 years and today is his birthday, always a hard day for me, and I feel like I need to finally write about it.
We met in grade 8. He was always nice to me, kind, funny and never discriminated against me or excluded me or made fun of me because I was fat. We all accepted him as he was and we didn’t care about his family situation. His mother was openly gay and living with her partner. This was the early 90s and there was still significant stigma associated with a family like that. He adored his mother and he was very close with her. Some of the kids made fun of him or made comments about his mother but for us, our group of friends, we never cared. Maybe that’s why he was drawn to spending time with us. And oh boy, over the years I developed such a crush on him. It would ebb and flow but in general, it was always there. He dated my friend … a few times. I even HELPED him woo her a few of those times. Because especially at that point in my life, boys didn’t like me but I was still a helpless romantic so I’d get caught up in the supposed ‘romance’ even though it wasn’t directed at me.
We graduated and I went to university for a few years and then I left the country for a year. But we stayed in touch. The odd phone call. The odd coffee. He was doing his thing… stayed back another year in high school to ‘clear up a few things’ (he was never much of a scholar…) and then was just working at various odd jobs. When I moved back to my home town, I needed roommates. So he and I and another friend rented a townhouse together. Oh boy we had fun. The booze and the pot were constant. We were 21…we were out of our parents’ house and we were free to do what we wanted. Our relationship matured and a few romantic ‘moments’ (likely fueled by alcohol-shed inhibitions) occurred while we were living together but we never actually ‘dated’ per se. Then one day he brought home a girl that he was head over heels madly in love with. And I got jealous. And it was awkward. And he moved out and in with his new love. Over time though, things smoothed out again, I discovered I adored his new love and she was awesome and life went on. They moved about 6 hours away. I’d go visit a couple of times. One time I drove all the way there and he and I spent an entire weekend playing one video game, over and over and over again until we actually finished the game. We hadn’t slept in 2 days but we were extremely proud of our accomplishment. These are things I remember. Because our times together became further and farther apart. We mostly kept in touch by phone calls here and there.
Then I didn’t hear from him for a long time. He changed his phone number. A few times. I couldn’t get a hold him. Several months went by. Then almost a year. And one day he phoned me. And he was so upset. He was in tears. His relationship was over, he’d lost his job and he had ‘been partying too much’. He just kept saying that, over and over again. ‘I’ve been partying too much’. We talked for a long time and we decided that he would move back to our city and move in with me because as it happened, I needed a roommate for the following month. He felt better, he was energized, he was looking forward to ‘coming home’. We talked about all the things we were going to do and how great living together again would be. And I have to admit, I was looking forward to living with him again. Thinking maybe that we could change our relationship to a more permanent romantic one. Afterall, the flame and crush had never gone away.
But the first of the month came. And he didn’t appear. He didn’t answer his phone and I knew it was the right number because I had just spoken to him 3 days before then when he’d told me his plan to arrive on the first. But he never arrived. Several days went by. I had to beg my landlord to give me a few days to come up with the other half of the rent that he was supposed to pay. I called everyone who knew him but no one had seen him. I called his ex and she told me she had seen him briefly recently so she knew he was around. It wasn’t like he was hurt or anything. He just never showed up.
This was the first spiral that I went on. I didn’t get out of bed basically for several days. I ate my feelings in every way I could and I was already at my highest weight. I was so upset and devastated that he would leave me in this situation (I was really broke at the time) and that he wouldn’t even answer his phone or call me to explain what happened. After a few days, a period I like to call my ‘first rock bottom’, I was sitting beside my bookshelf when I saw this book called ‘Food’ by Susan Powter that my mom had given me and that I had never even looked at. I’d never even opened it before. But for some reason I did this time. And I didn’t put it down. I read the whole thing in a few hours. Something inside me clicked and I thought ‘I can do that. That doesn’t seem so hard’.
I poured myself into my new lifestyle realizing that the only person that could make me happy was me. Not him. I wrote a letter to him telling him how much he had hurt me and how betrayed I felt and I mailed it to his brother’s house and asked him to give it to him if they ever saw him. And then I closed that door and I locked it tight. I exercised, I ate well, I found a new roommate, I made plans to switch from college into my final two years of university and I went on with my life.
About a year later I was out on a pub crawl with my university friends. I had lost 80lbs. I felt fantastic and almost like I fit in. Like I was almost normal. I didn’t think about him so much anymore and figured that I would never see him again. But that night on pub number 5, I turned my head and there he was. I stared at him. He stared at me, knowing he should say something but not knowing what. And I burst into tears. My friends had no idea who he was or what had happened. Some of the guys offered to beat him up for me, haha. He and I went outside and had a tear-filled screaming match fueled by alcohol (of course) with me being angry and him being so apologetic he didn’t know what to do. We left it at ‘we’ll meet to talk when we’re sober’.
We met the next day for coffee and had a more rational conversation. He explained how incredibly bad he’d felt for what he’d done to me, used me and my compassion for him to make himself feel better and then disappeared leaving me high and dry. He explained how really messed up he was. That the truth was that he’d been hanging out with the wrong people and developed a cocaine problem and this was what he’d meant when he kept saying ‘I’ve been partying too much’. That on the day he was supposed to get on the bus and come back and live with me that he got scared that I would be so disappointed in how messed up he had become that instead he took his bus fare and bought more drugs and stopped answering his phone. But eventually he did get back to town and he got clean but he still lived with this guilt and knew that he would have to deal with it at some point and had been trying to get the nerve to call me for months now but couldn’t. I guess fate had made that unnecessary.
It took me a long time to forgive him. I didn’t trust him. But over time our relationship regrew. We dated other people, we spent time together but we never quite lined up a real relationship. We even made a plan that if we got to 40 and found ourselves finally single at the same time, that we’d marry each other. For the next few months we didn’t see each other often, but every month or two. Sometimes more. Sometimes less. I’d phone him on his birthday every year and he and his mom would phone me on Christmas day. And one day he called me and was both excited and freaking out. The girl he had been seeing for just a few weeks was already pregnant. It was a mistake but he was so excited. He had always wanted to be a father. This may not have been planned but it was welcome. He said I was the first person he could think to phone when he found out and he didn’t know why. I didn’t know how to react to that. I still don’t. And slowly as the pregnancy progressed and he spent more and more time with his girlfriend and moved in with her etc. I saw him less and less. He didn’t phone me when she was born. But I heard from his mother about her arrival. And life went on and we went our ways.
About a year later, a mutual friend of ours was in town from living overseas. She asked about him and I said I hadn’t seen him in a while and that I’d heard he had a kid. She insisted we phone him. So we did. And he was thrilled at our timing. He announced ‘I can’t believe you phoned me today. I’m getting married next weekend and it would mean everything to me if you’d be there’. He was marrying the mother of his child. And he was happy. We had lunch a few days before the wedding so we could catch up. He walked in with his absolutely adorable, gorgeous little girl that quite obviously had his big blue eyes and his chubby cheeks. And he was so caring and attentive and so proud to be a father.
I went to his wedding the next weekend. An informal, backyard affair. It was the first time I’d met his wife. But during the ceremony it wasn’t her that I was paying attention to. It was him. He was really truly happy. He had a wife and a beautiful little girl – things that I knew he had always wanted. I struggled with my feelings of happiness and elation at my friend finding happiness and my little heartbreak that it wasn’t with me. Even though at the time I was in my own relationship, but I acknowledge now that I wasn’t happy in it. At the dinner after the wedding, I was sitting next to his mom, a woman who, for some strange reason, had always had an affinity for me as a friend in her son’s life. She leaned over and said to me…’you know, I had hoped that would have been you up there.’ I didn’t know what to say or how to react.
After he got married we drifted apart again. He still phoned at Christmas and I still phoned on his birthday but we didn’t see too much of each other. We were well on our way in our careers and our relationships and our lives now. In the fall of 2009, his birthday came and went and I forgot to phone. And Christmas came and went and he forgot to phone. Oh well, I thought. I’ll call him on New Year’s. But New Year’s day I was too hung over, too tired. Oh well, I thought. I’ll call him next weekend.
That week I went back to work after the holidays. On the first Thursday of the month, I got home from work and quickly checked my Facebook as I’d always done. On it was a message from his mother asking me to call her urgently – she couldn’t find my number. So I called her and she said ‘Honey? Are you sitting down? ‘ I said ‘No, why? What’s wrong?’. She said ‘Honey, sit down’. And she didn’t have to say it. I knew. I didn’t know what had happened but I knew. And at that moment my heart shattered into a million pieces.
And he was just gone. He no longer walked this earth. He wasn’t ‘around’ when I felt like calling. He wasn’t going to call next Christmas.
He was 33 years old and he was dead. My dear complicated friend. Turns out he had a heart defect he’d had since birth that they’d never known about. He had an aortic aneurism. They figure he stood up, his aorta blew out suddenly and he was dead in seconds. His wife didn’t find him until she woke up and realized he hadn’t come to bed from playing video games. She found him next to the sofa.
That night we went to his house where all his friends were. Everyone looked like lost zombies. Grown men with tears rolling down their faces. Guys I hadn’t seen since high school that he’d been best friends with. And his mother. His devastated, broken mother. They were so close. I had never known a guy to be closer to his mother without being ‘a momma’s boy’. They talked almost every day. And as she and I sat on the couch not saying anything and just holding each other, she said to me, ‘he should have been with you. You should have been the mother of his children. He was so sorry for hurting you. He told me about it so many times how sorry he was and how even though you forgave him that he still felt bad’. I didn’t know what to say. If it had been me, where would that have put me? As the 30 year old widow with the 4 year old? How was I supposed to take that?
His wife was mysteriously stoic. I would learn later that this was not the first heart breaking loss she had experienced. She’d lost her mother when she was 16. I think once people go through a loss like that, their reaction to another one is going to be different. Not easier by any means. Just different.
And I kept thinking, ‘I should have phoned him on his birthday. Or on Christmas. Or on New Year’s. And told him I loved him. But I didn’t. Why didn’t I do that?’ At one point during this evening of mourning I was putting on my jacket to go outside for a cigarette and his daughter, who was 4 now, came sliding down the carpeted staircase. She got to the bottom step and just sat there watching me put my jacket on. She looked up at me with her big blue eyes. His eyes. Nestled next to his cheeks. And she said ‘Do you know what happened to my daddy?’ My eyes brimmed up for the millionth time that night and I said, ‘yes sweetie I know’. She said ‘he died’. And then she jumped up and ran up the stairs again. I bolted out the door before I really lost it.
The next time I saw him wasn’t at coffee, or at his wedding. He was lying in a coffin in his beloved Tampa Bay Lightning jersey. I kept thinking ‘why would they do this? Why would they put him on display like this?’ But his mother and wife felt that friends and family needed to see him one last time. But now that image of him, with this pale grey skin tone shellacked with makeup, so lifeless, so not full of his light and laughter and smile and humour, is burned on my brain forever. That’s my final memory of him.
And thus began my second spiral. This one was much longer and much deeper. And it took me over 3 years to gain a grip again and start taking care of myself. Even when people, myself included, were telling me he’d never want to see me so miserable, I couldn’t seem quite turn things around. It wasn’t all about him. Don’t get me wrong. He wasn’t the only contributing factor to my depression’s longevity but it was a major one.
Not a day passes that I don’t think of him. My best friend, also very close to him, named her first child after him. She had discovered she was pregnant on the same day he had died. I still talk to his mom on Facebook and via Skype (she lives in another city). I’ve even visited her for a weekend where we spent the weekend drinking wine and finally telling each other all the things we knew and didn’t know about him. I spilled some of his secrets and so did she. Like that he loved me and had talked to her about the possibility of a long term relationship with me but it never seemed to pan out. Our timing was off.
In January it will be 4 years since he died. And every year his birthday still arrives. As it has today. And I know it’s coming and I always make a plan to just make it feel like it’s any other day. But it’s not.
Wednesday, November 13, 2013
So with today’s weigh-in, I have officially lost 20% of my starting weight. It took a little longer than I had hoped or planned (doesn’t it always) and every day was a struggle but I eventually got here. I have a long ways to go but that’s why it’s important to make interim goals so that you feel like you’re accomplishing something. My next goal will be to get to my lowest adult weight – that’s in another 16 lbs. Things are starting to slow down now, more like an average of 1 to 1.5 lbs a week rather than 2 or more (and the ‘average’ is important because some weeks it’s nothing, or even a gain and then some weeks it’s 3. So unpredictable this weight loss stuff hey?) And I have expected a slow down (though it sucks) so I know it’s going to take a little longer and require a continued concentrated effort on my part to make this next goal.
I think back to when I was at this lowest adult weight that I will be striving for again. It was close to 10 years ago now and I was only there briefly, maybe a few days. And something in my head clicked and gave me ‘a pass’ so to speak to just hang out at this range for a while. I stayed within about 5 lbs of it for maybe 6-8 months before I really started gaining weight back. I had reached this semi-goal and for whatever reason, which I know was psychological and not physiological, I didn’t get past it.
I sometimes wonder if we sabotage ourselves because we’re scared of finding what’s left after we remove the layer of fat that has been insulating us. That all our flaws will finally be really visible when there’s no unusual body size for people to be distracted by and which we can blame things on. That we’ll find people will actually dislike us for just being US and we can’t chalk it up to them not liking us or discriminating against us because we’re fat. Or scared we’ll find that men don’t want to date us anyway and it wasn’t just because we were fat. Or that we were passed up for jobs because we just were and not because we were fat. Or a million other things that we either consciously or subconsciously blame on the fact that we’re fat. We’re scared of removing this layer, announcing to the world ‘THIS IS ME’ and finding ourselves rejected.
And I haven’t even made it anywhere near it, but I’ve already found myself thinking …I’ll just get to the 100lb lost mark and then I’ll stop. I don’t want to lose more weight because then I’ll have really saggy skin and that will make me feel as unattractive as being fat did. I mean, gawd forbid I get down into one-derland! I’d look like an elephant! So there’s my brain ALREADY giving me a pass on reaching an (arguably) healthy weight.
So I’m trying to concentrate on the now and the very near future. The next 5 lbs, not the next 50. I’m trying to not get too wrapped up in ‘what life will be like when…’ and concentrate on making more and doing more with my life now. With my body as it is right now. None of it’s easy and I fail at it on literally an hourly basis.
Thursday, October 31, 2013
Since March my weight has been slowly going down, falling under ‘the yellow line’ on the weight loss report. Sometimes it’s a lot under it and sometimes it was just a little. But since I returned from my trip in early September, that yellow line is now BELOW where my weight loss is. Meaning I will likely not be hitting my goal for the year by New Years.
Yesterday was my 3rd week of weighing in where I hovered in this same 2 lb range. And I was a total saint most of those weeks. I had upped my exercise with lots of cardio. I had stayed in my calorie range. But then got on the scale and get a loss of 0.4 lbs. It’s so incredibly frustrating. And for the first time in a long time, I ‘compensated’ myself by eating foods that I didn’t need. Lots of carbs. And pizza. And grilled cheese sandwiches. And ice cream. With chocolate sauce. I went way over my calories and I was uncomfortably full. And in the end, how did I feel about it? I thought about it and acknowledged that yesterday I was feeding emotions of frustration to do with my lack of movement on the scale and on some crap that was going on at work that was getting me really angry.
And then that turned into guilt and anger at myself for not sticking to my cardinal rule of not making it all about the number on a scale. I let an inanimate object that displays a number dictate how I felt all day and influence what I put in my body. When you think about it objectively like that – it’s completely ridiculous.
There were a couple things this morning that helped me refocus. One was a facebook post from a girl I went to high school with. She was ‘the other fat girl’ in high school. We’ve stayed in touch over the years, not the best of friends, but certainly called each other if we were going to be in town (she lives in Calgary now). Anyway, she was announcing that she had finally reached 100 lbs lost. And she looked fantastic. Unlike me, this was her first attempt and accomplishment at a big weight loss. I private messaged her and told how great she looked and encouraged her to keep it up and NEVER gain it back. Because if you’ve lost a great amount of weight before and then gained it back and you’re staring down the barrel of doing that loss again, you KNOW how much work it’s going to be in terms of blood, sweat and tears. And it makes it that much more foreboding. She remarked to me that she never realized just how much commitment and dedication that it would require. I told her about my journey, being some pounds behind her and that she’s an inspiration to me. And then we made an agreement that next year at our 20 year high school reunion we were going to show up as the formerly fat girls, now thin. And laugh at the former thin girls, now fat. (I know, I’m going to hell. I was only kidding. I won’t literally laugh at them.) She eagerly agreed and so this is something that’s fun to think about. Showing up at the high school reunion with her and having people barely recognize us. I don’t know if they’ll even have a reunion (they didn’t have a 10th) but it’s fun to think about.
The second thing was a blog post from STEPH-KNEE this morning that helped me remember that it takes time. Today she’s celebrating 85 lbs down (congratulations!!) and it took her 19 months to do that. That there is no timeline, no deadline and we’re all on our own journey. And I have to remember that.
I decided that maybe it’s time to re-examine some things as they tell you to do when you hit a plateau of some sort. So I entered in the exercise minutes I’ve been doing for the past 3 weeks consistently along with my goal for the year and it upped my daily calories by 370. So maybe I wasn’t eating enough to sustain the exercise I was doing. I wasn’t hungry at all, but for the next week (and just pretending that yesterday never happened…except the lesson I took from it), I’m going to up my calories with more protein and healthy choices and see if it makes a difference.
I’m mostly writing this blog entry to mark that I am acknowledging that I made poor nutrition choices yesterday in direct response to how I was feeling emotionally and not physically. If I’m going to overcome my emotional eating tendencies permanently then I need to start by acknowledging when they do still happen and know that I didn’t just flip a switch one day and solve my problems with feeding my feelings. That it still needs to be monitored and managed.
Monday, October 21, 2013
I love the stuff. Obviously. That’s why I’m here on Sparkpeople. Because I loved it so much that apparently I chose to keep carrying with me all the food I’ve eaten. My problem has never really been snacking or night eating. It’s been eating copious amounts of the WRONG FOOD. The deep fried, cheese laden, butter coated oohy gooey goodness that I would obsess over. That I would eat until my gut was crying for mercy. That I would keep shovelling in, using it to address emotions that needed tending to rather than feeding.
Having been around the block or two on the weightloss circuit, I’ve slowly picked up tools and strategies that work for me and tried and discarded others that didn’t. And that’s really all any of us can do. How one person lost 100 lbs may prove to be an impossible approach for me. How I lose weight may prove to be an impossible approach for you. So take the following discussion with the caveat that this is what works for me, maybe not for you.
Many moons ago, on my first foray into serious weight loss (and I differentiate ‘serious’ from ‘half-*ssed’ based on my level of commitment and how much I lost), I read a book by Susan Powter called FOOD. In spite of her stark appearance and obnoxious yelling tactics, I enjoyed her no BS style of writing. One of the things she addressed in her writing was about eating FOOD. And lots of it. Because we can’t go from stuffing our face to eating a lettuce leaf and an apple for lunch. We’ll be grumpy, feel deprived and eventually lash out by binging.
So although I’ve changed what I eat and how much, I still eat a lot of food. No one can accuse me of starving myself into weight loss. While I’ve changed what I serve myself, I’m still all about the volume. I’m working at about 1850 calories a day right now. So I average about 400 cals for breakfast, 500 cals for lunch, 550 cals for dinner and the rest in snacks (Usually apples or yogurt. Or both. Okay, honestly usually it’s both.)
This is going to be a massive blog post if I address all three meals here, so I’m going to stick to breakfast today and follow it up with other meals in future blog posts.
So let’s talk breakfast. I love breakfast. I’ve never been a breakfast skipper. It’s my favourite meal of the day and I usually have it for dinner too at least once a week. If I skip breakfast, I’m grumpy and irritable. Now, I haven’t perfected the art of breakfast with a perfectly balanced meal, I know I should have more protein in the morning but this is what I like. On work days when I have to get up and get going, I have a big bowl of multigrain cheerios with skim milk, whatever fresh fruit is available and coffee with half and half cream. Yes, real cream. In the past, I’ve tried to use skim milk. I think it’s gross. I refuse to give up cream in my coffee. What I did do though was reduce the amount of coffee I drink and have replaced most of it with peach or peppermint tea. Oh also - measure it! I measure everything – 2 cups of cheerios, 1 cup of milk etc. That way I’m keeping myself honest.
Now, on the weekends, I love me some eggs. Eggs are such an awesome food. So versatile and yummy. This past Sunday morning, I decided I wanted French toast. I had some white French bread in the freezer leftover from the turkey stuffing and normally I would use multigrain bread, but let’s be honest, French toast with real French bread is way better. Again, measuring everything so it can be tracked properly. I made the French toast with 1 egg and the rest egg whites, lots of cinnamon and nutmeg, 2 tablespoons of light syrup and served it with turkey breakfast sausage and some fruit. Daayyyumm. It was good. And I didn’t feel deprived in any way, shape or form. Keep in mind, I chose this meal to be my big meal of the day so it was about 550 calories. I had a salad for lunch and smaller dinner and came in actually well under my calories for the day.
How about when going out for brunch? I love brunch. For whatever reason, brunch is a big deal here in my city. I can think of at least 20 restaurants that serve a wicked brunch. And I’m all about the eggs benny. Which inevitability makes people gasp and say ‘but the hollandaise!’. Meh, sure hollandaise is really high in fat, but you also don’t need to eat a half a cup of it to get the flavour. I always order my eggs benny with no added butter to the English muffin, hollandaise on the side, so I can control how much goes on it, and always the fruit instead of the potatoes or hashbrowns. Those fried potatoes or hashbrowns are what will make a 500 calorie breakfast become a 1000 calorie breakfast pretty quickly.
Ok – enough about breakfast! I’ll talk about lunch in another entry. My point is, you don’t have to starve yourself to lose weight. Actually, you SHOULD NOT starve yourself to lose weight. I’m always on the lookout for high volume/low calorie foods. You can eat lots of food as long as you’re eating the right foods and you’re tracking it!
I hope everyone had an awesome weekend and that you don’t have a case of the Mondays. I know there are people that say we should just do away with Monday altogether. Yeah? Well then we’d hate Tuesdays. It’s a vicious cycle. Stay strong!
Thursday, October 03, 2013
So there’s a horrible side effect to this whole weight loss thing. It’s called ‘saggy bum’ and I’m its latest victim. I was down to only 2 pairs of pants that I could wear comfortably – my black cords (so soft, so comfy, so….loose), and my beat up blue jeans – but I could live with that. I mean, they’d make do until I absolutely HAD to buy new clothes, right? Let me clarify here – I hate shopping. I don’t think even if I was a regular size that I’d like shopping. I could be wrong – maybe I will prove myself wrong in the future but right now – hate it, always have.
The other day my friend at work asked me if I actually had a bum because the way my jeans sagged it looked like my back led directly to my legs. This, combined with the fact that I was actually rolling both pairs of pants from the top to pull them up, made me realize that I probably need to buy new jeans and pants sooner rather than later. But not too many and don’t spend too much! ‘Cause the thing is, and I’ve experienced this before, you lose weight and you go out and spend a ton of money on new clothes, then you lose more and now you can’t wear those clothes anymore. It’s expensive and kind of annoying and for someone that already hates shopping, you can see how this would be incredibly frustrating.
How many of us wear clothes that are loose fitting and flowing so that they don’t hug our curves wrong, show our belly or define our thighs? Also, we like to wear lots of black. Because that way, no one will notice that we’re fat. Come on – we all do it. But in my defence, dark grey is a fabulous colour on red heads. I’m just saying. Just because 60% of my wardrobe is charcoal grey doesn’t mean it was meant as a cover up. Well, not all of it. Besides, for the most part, I figured I had it all worked out because historically my weight could fluctuate up and down and if my clothes were big enough, well then I didn’t need to buy new ones! I have a whole closet full of clothes that were loose fitting to begin with. But there comes a time when loose or 'comfortable' becomes cotton sack-like. Now they’re literally hanging off me.
So this comment from my friend and the fact that I was rolling my pants up just to keep them from dragging combined with the fact that I’m attempting to date and really shouldn’t look like I’m wearing a diaper (I hear it’s a turn off….) I decided it was probably time to do something about it. So last night I finally made myself venture out to search for clothes. As most of you know, there are a limited number of stores we can shop in – and in Canada it’s even more limited. That’s why I like to hit up the stores in the States when I go there, more to choose from. Anyway, my goal was to find one pair of jeans and one pair of pants that would do me for a while. And a few tops because all of my tops are hanging off my shoulders displaying my bra straps and make me look like I have bat wings under my arms.
So I go into this store and instead of looking at jeans I get drawn to looking at wide legged knee-high boots. Now tell me, WHY did they not figure that out sooner? I could have spent my whole life wearing boots but no… they missed out on the thousands and millions of dollars that I and other fat calved women in this world would have spent. So I forgot all about the jeans while I tried on every pair of wide-calved boot in the store. I zeroed in on a pair and decided that the time had come for me to own some. Then the sales lady mentioned that my boots looked awesome but I couldn’t wear them with those saggy-assed jeans. Uh oh. Forgot about that. So then I had to start looking for jeans. Now… I haven’t bought jeans in a while and it seemed every pair I tried on were tight in the thighs but fit in the waist. So I asked her if that was ‘in’ right now (forgive me, I’m a fashion moron) – she told me I wouldn’t find any jeans that were not fitted to the thighs. I was trying on 20’s, which in and of itself is kinda awesome but had to admit that the bum was still a bit loose. Okay I will give this caveat – I don’t really have much of a bum. I mean, I do – it’s not total plank-city back there but I’m much more boob heavy than booty heavy. So the sales girl says, nu-uh you’re going to need an 18. I’m like, seriously? So I put on these 18s and they’re clinging to me like spandex but I had to admit, my bum looked good. (Keep in mind, this particular store I find is pretty lax on the sizing, I guess to make us all feel better…but hey, I ‘ll take it). I put the boots I’d picked out over top of them and voila! I felt both wickedly sexy AND super self conscious and it took the sales girl half an hour to convince me I was neither too old nor too fat for this look. She also noted that my height helps me carry this off – I will admit, I do not mind being tall. Except when it comes to dating, then it’s somewhat frustrating as not every man is my preferred height of 6’3”. (Why is that?) Moving on… So she convinced me to pull out the credit card and I ended up buying them along with one other pair of pants and a few plain tops and took them home. But when I went to put the outfit on this morning, the self-conscious part came back.
So you tell me – skinny jeans? To wear or not to wear?!
(and please excuse the work bathroom pic, I didn’t think of posting about this until I was already at work…)
Also - the tag is still on them so I could return them....should I rip the tag off?
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