Summer has torn into my part of the world like crazed tweens at a One Direction concert; hormonal, rabid and a little bit unstable. Summer storms yesterday gave way to heat paired with dreaded midwest humidity. Humidity so strong that this inhaler loving asthmatic got winded simply by walking across a parking lot. It’s pretty embarrassing when I’m out of breath and the little old lady next to me is trucking along like a marathon runner. Asthma, successfully lowering self-esteem one humidity infested heatwave at a time.
The jeans I wore didn’t help matters much, jeans + midwest summers = really really bad idea. So why did I buck all logic and pull on my trusty pair of “go to” jeans… well there is a simple answer to that. Prison break. My thighs were trying rather victoriously to break through the fabric prison of my shorts. The shorts held their own though, keeping the angry thighs of doom confined with painful red lines and accented cellulite dimples. The look was fabulous really (not really, not really at all) but I figured as fun as it would be splitting my pants like Bruce Banner, I’d pass. Hulk mad smash. Frustrated I tossed the shorts behind a pile of sweaters, no point in letting them see the light of day anytime soon.
That single event led me to near hyperventilation, dehydration and heat stroke in about half an hour flat. Since Pinteresting “DIY vacuum lip0suction” was probably out of the question, I opted to do what every woman (no matter your age) hates doing. Now keep in mind I’m not a fan of the word hate, it’s a rather strong word that should be used as sparingly as possible, but in this instance it fits. I absolutely hate with the fiery rage of a thousand suns having to buy a larger size in anything. Except maybe bras, but lets me honest I have yet to have that problem. Begrudgingly I tried on my current size shorts, then huffed and puffed around the small fitting room trying to get the things to button. No dice, couldn’t make that happen, even if I could ignore the fact the shorts were cutting off circulation to my ankles. Sigh next size up, winner… well crap.
The truth was in the fabric. I couldn’t deny it anymore. I can’t deny it now as I type this confession… I have eaten my way up a pant size. Poor decisions written all over the shorts, the receipt, the shopping bag.. all of it. Grumble, grumble, but I really love cheesecake, grumble. This will be the only, repeat ONLY summer in this size of shorts. By the end of this summer, those shorts will be donated to the local Goodwill. This isn’t a buzz kill or setback, nope my shorts misadventure is just another stepping stone towards where I want to be. Motivation in denim. But still.