The good news is that I've recently committed to losing the weight that I've gained over the last few years. After all, to quote Lily Allen: "everything's cool as long as I'm getting thinner". So I try to look on the bright side of the two gaping holes on both sides of my inner pant leg. I now have a tangible reminder that things have gotten out of control.
You think I would have been motivated to lose the weight when walking became difficult. Each thigh panting out of breath as it squeezed past the other in an endless battle to move forward. Sticking together in the summer. Uncomfortable friction in the winter.
Somehow I seemed to toss this information aside amidst the friction and chaos beneath my zipper. But alas, the truth finally bore it's ugly head: like the critter ripping through that guy's stomache in "Alien" so were my thighs through both pant legs. Both images are horrific.
Since I have to toss the jeans out, I venture into my closet to see what else I can purge. It's sad really. My closet is a mausoleum of sorts: of a younger, slimmer me. I try on one thing after another only to be mortified that it no longer fits the way that it used to. One by one I try on items hoping to have some reconnection to an earlier time. But there is little to no success. One after the other I fail. My arms can't fit into sleeves. Wrap-around shirts aren't able to cope with the expanded mass of fat on my mid region.
And so I lay the clothes back in their tomb - not wanting to disturb the dead. Hoping at some point in the very near future that they will all be resurrected.
Lily Allen - The Fear from Alex Gilbert on Vimeo.
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