Last night I went out to dinner and decided I would wear the pre-worn ( but relatively new) paige jeans I just got on ebay.
As I squirmed into the jeans I sighed heavily when i got to the part where you’re spose to be able to zip them. I sucked it big time so that the zipper could make it’s long sojourn up to the top … where the button is sposed to do it’s #1 function: button. It was at this time that I realized that the difficulty must be that these jeans were “high waisted” and, lemme tell you, it’s been a while since i’ve worn a pair of those armpit grazing blues. *sh*t. I didn’t even realize that cool jean companies are even allowed to make high waisted jeans anymore- did I miss the memo? Are Paige like the new mommy jeans? So not cool.
Once I got my tunic shirt on i noticed that the unsightly bulge around my middle was at least a little less obvious. The gelatinous consistency of my child bearing belly was carefully concealed by the higher tides of my new waistline. I’ve exercised periodically and I am currently giving Pilates a good run in order to firm up my “core” ( core? where is that? ) but I’ve resigned myself to the fact that my middle is kind of like the elastic on an old pair of grannie panties- S.H.O.T.
As I sat down to dinner (I use that term lightly) I realized that I could not quite “bend” at the middle and that i was wildly uncomfortable. My gut protested- understandably, it had no where to go and was like a caged version of the blob- unable to be contained.
I pretended to adjust the napkin on my lap and as I tried to distract the Goodbar’s attention I managed to undo the button of my discontent. The young bartender and I traded a knowing glance, and I felt confident that we also passed an understanding until I took some time to check her out more carefully. How could she possibly understand my torture? She was maybe in her late 20’s or early 30’s- was that a smirk on her face? Damn her- she’d have her day. I wandered the bar area with my eyes- trying to find an ally, but I was on my own. What kind of dinner place was this anyway ? Was this a no muffin tops allowed establishment? I am still hip – I can pass can’t I? omg- these girls are all college age- what am i doing here?
Getting home and getting out of my new used jeans was a huge relief. I felt like I was peeling off an unfair jail sentence. My belly felt free- free at last!
I’m returning these F*ing jeans and if they don’t take returns I will burn them. I will burn them as I dance around the fire as I give homage to the muffin top gods. I am healthy, I am strong, and I am a wanna be indian princess warrior with a fruit bearing womb who does not care. I am thick in the middle: hear me roar.
The meal was terrible. I hate that restaurant. I am never going there again.
I have nothing more to share.