If These Pants Could Talk
Each morning I stare at 22 pairs of pants. For a good minute and a half.
Then I realize I’m really only choosing from only three pairs of pants.
Then I admonish myself for wasting time.
Then I wonder why I have all these pants hanging in my closet, all the time. Not packed away in the attic or basement.
Here’s the thing, I have two or three pairs of black pants in four different sizes and a grey or brown in four different sizes too. This means that in any one size, I have only a few pairs of pants that fit.
Why do I refuse to (a.) throw/give the other sizes away and (b.) get to a size I enjoy and stay there?
That’s the real question – defining “a size I enjoy.” The “size I enjoy” with an abundance of goat cheese and tzatziki and pulled pork sandwiches and shepherd’s pie is different than the “size I enjoy” on my body.
Where am I now? You guessed it: the largest size I own.
Hence the overwhelming desire to start this healthy eating – ahem, OK *DIET* – that I’m on now.
I yearn to enact true “lifestyle changes,” and BE that brownie- and potato-chip-declining person, but I end up with successful dieting for a time being, off and on, but not forever.
Each time I go down a size or two, I swear I will never go back up.
What happens on the way back up that’s not there on the way down?
Let’s see if we can figure this out. We’re on the ride now!