…SOME SORT OF A MIRACLE!
Today (Friday, December 13…how apt!) has devolved into a day from Hell extraordinaire. I’ll refrain from describing the fiasco at Experian, the fiasco at the community college, and the fiasco with the car (which may mean having to buy a new car) and cut to the chase. To wit…
Pretty much in shock, after having untangled the mess at the college and rescued a lovely young student’s financial aid package (don’t even ASK!!!!!), I stopped by the Costco on the way home, there to purchase some dog meat and some dog veggies and a package of Campari tomatoes and…oh WTF, why not, a bottle of wine.
Friends have speculated that the size 10 jeans into which I have shrunk may yet be too large. And it has to be said that after while they seem to fit OK when they’re freshly washed, after one or two sittings-down they’re mighty loose.
So while cruising through the Mother Purveyor of All Impulse Buys, I picked up a pair of size 8 Gloria Vanderbilt Unquestionably-Your-Mother’s jeans.
Flew in the house and before even popping the cork on the cheap Pinot noir tried on the pants.
And holy mackerel. THEY FIT!
Not only do they fit, but they look pretty damn good.
Well. I don’t look like I looked when I was 22. Because I don’t have buns anymore. And neither will you, you crazy young pups, when and if you succeed to my state of agèd majesty. But I do look, incredibly and astonishingly, like a person who actually does fit in size 8 jeans.
Dayum.
Do you know how long it’s been since I could fit into a size 8 anything, to say nuttin’ of cheap pants made in Asia?
Thirty-six years!
Thirty-six years: THAT is how long since my body would fit gracefully into a size 8 of any shape or definition.
Who’d of thunk it?
