(And that answer would have been “yes,” had I been able to get them around my butt.)
The day a girl realizes she can no longer fit into her “old jeans” is a sad, disgraceful occasion that is mourned within the bonds of all womanhood. September 18 is a date that will live in infamy in my personal book, and that page may or may not be torn out at some future point.
I know I’m not obese or anything, but let’s be honest: my pants don’t fit. After spending a year bemoaning and denying the fact that my pants will never again fit me, I accepted it. I figured, what the heck? I may as well try to sell the traitors on eBay (come on, I’m sure you COULD HAVE STRETCHED a little more). If I could get $20 out of each pair, awesome. As a seasoned eBayer, I know the secret to a successful jean sell is due in whole to good photos of your derriere. Seeing as it’s tricky to take those yourself, Brian was home from work and the man for the job.
Sidenote: This whole process means nothing to men. Nothing. I’m sure he doesn’t understand how this could seriously alter my self-image, affect my eating habits, my mood , and act as a catalyst for my subconscious searching for some sort of control and stability in my life manifested through over-indulgent eating or excessive spending and consequently our WHOLE LIVES could be ruined if this moment is not handled well!
After kissing goodbye a pair I was particularly fond of (7 A-pockets with pink rhinestones… the quality of the bedazzling, the QUALITY, man!), I realized that this was for the best. Plus, emotional attachments to inanimate objects are the demise of many a hoarder.
Brian was busy on his phone texting about what I can only assume was Fantasy Football (or Stuart Peterson) related, while I was smashing myself into what used to be my favorite pair of Rock and Republics. Literally, I had to jump up and down get these pants over my thighs, and they didn’t go much higher than that. Zipping was definitely out of the question , after I compromised Brian’s life by trying to button the first pair. Do you have any idea the kind of impact a button under that much pressure could have ricocheting off your pants and through a vital organ? For the safety of everyone involved, I just wore a long shirt over, held it down, and sucked in for the pictures. Afterwards, I had to peeeeel off my pants.
But I mean, they probably just shrunk in the dryer...
And so, this is how the process went, sadly and smoothly, until about pair #5, when my eBay photographer had a lapse of attentiveness. I’m standing there, exposed muffin top and all, trying to suck in all my internal organs AND skin, stand up straight, and stick my butt out all at the same time. Trying to pose for a picture in 2 sizes too small jeans? WE CAN ALL AGREE THAT THIS IS WHAT HELL IS ALL ABOUT. I am not exhaling, a clear sign that I’m ready for the snap of the camera, and NOTHING. Brian was texting. NOT OKAY AT THAT MOMENT! I’m sorry. Brian Scurr, I am sorry for getting upset at you. My annoyance at your unwillingness to be ready the second I am was uncalled for. It’s just that my circulation in my lower appendages was being cut off, and that makes me feel angry. I was understandably embarrassed for showing you this sight that hopefully you have blocked from your memory. Also, kudos to you for not making any comments, or talking much at all. Way to play it safe. Also, this will happen again every time I have a child. Also, I miss having eye contact with you this time of year, but I won’t complain too much, because basketball season is worse. I love you!
Here’s to hoping my public honesty will bring some good karma to my eBay life. Bid on those jeans!