Spring is a colorful, dynamic season of transition–in the weather, in nature’s landscape…and in my closet.  As temperatures warm, out come months-forgotten clothes that can’t wait to go from lifeless hanger or drawer to a hot-blooded body.  That’s right, interpeeps, clothes have personality and character and feelings.  I’m convinced that’s why I get attached to them.

Pondering what to wear this morning, on a day that began frosty-ish but promised 70s before the sun set, I remembered a pair of khaki’s I got, the good end from a not-so-great Christmas return.  Actually, I wanted to wear a three-quarter-length- sleeved sweater (in one of my favorite colors to wear!), the perfect top for a 30-something–70 degree swing; my black pants required heels, so I opted for khaki. 

Pulling them off the hanger, I slipped in one foot then the other.  Something was dreadfully wrong!  My thighs were close to exploding the seams!!!  Thoughts raced through my brain at the speed of sound or light or whatever’s faster, simultaneous layered thoughts, not linear or sequential–"These-were- a-little-big-when-I-got-’em, and-I-wanted-them-to-shrink, but-not-THIS-much!-WHATTHEHECK-are-these-made-of???HOW- could-I-have-gotten-fatter-when-I’ve-been walking-two- plus-miles-a-day??Is-my-metabolism-in-reverse???" among other thoughts and words than I’ll spare you now.  I was confused and in a state of disbelief. 

Mortified and with great effort, I peeled them off…furious that middle age does this to you without advance warning.  I didn’t understand how I could be heavier than I was a few months ago, been walking faithfully for the past several weeks. 

Usually, I can brush things off like this…not this morning.  I was mad and disgusted.

Lingering thoughts of my inexplainable, overnight-expanding hips, thighs and buttocks hung in mid air as I flipped the pants to read the tag; I was curious what they were made of because I knew shrinkage had to have SOMETHING to do with my not being able even to zip them!  And then I smiled….

YES!!  THEY WEREN’T MINE!!  They were my 15-year-old daughter’s!!  The words "Old Navy" never looked more beautiful.

And, once again, all was well, inner peace and harmony were restored…and I ate a bowl of chocolate ice cream for breakfast to celebrate ;).

p.s.  The last time I wrote about "fat jeans", it was a VERY different story, daggum it >:(…………  One of y’all hexed me, didn’t you?  😉

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