…14… 14 and I like it.
My apologies to Alice Cooper, but I couldn’t help myself.
So, weekend before last I had to make an emergency shopping trip. My jeans, they hath ripped out in thy crotch. Which is always fun, just glad it didn’t happen at work this time. As luck would have it, my sister calls and lets Zan know that Old Navy was having a killer 1-day sale on their school uniforms. I mean, how can you pass up $5 polos and $9 khaki pants? So, we went forth and bought.
Zan, knowing I was down to 2 pairs of jeans, insisted I get a pair while we were there. Luckily, Old Navy jeans were on sale for $25, and while that’s more than I like to pay, it was a lot less than their normal $40. He grabs me a pair in my size (plus an armful of tops) and sends me off to the dressing room.
I return a few moments later.
“What’s the matter,” he asks slowly, “don’t they fit?”
I shake my head and I see the concern on his face. I’d been busting my butt, going to the gym, eating right, doing everything the way you should, so he was worried. I stop him before he can say a word.
Because they don’t fit.
They’re too big.
And to make things all the sweeter? Two of the shirts he picked out had to be returned to the rack. Why? Because they too were too big.
My jeans are now a size 14. My shirts, they can be simply a large, no extra needed.
Me? I’m ecstatic. Am I still a heifer? Yeah, pretty much so, but ya know what? I’m a skinny moo now.
(You can thank Zanderyn for that one, he loves calling me a skinny cow thanks to the ice cream sandwiches of the same name)