Whew! What a week. Work, physical therapy, doctors appointments, school functions and rain. Never a good combination. I was incredibly busy, and truth be told somewhat depressed. You see, I've gone over to the dark side. I had to purchase some slacks this week, and I made the decision to get a pair with an elastic waistband. It was a cruel moment, but I faced it with determination. Then I went into depression, all while wearing the most comfortable pants I have ever owned. Clinton and Stacy must be on their way. But let's face it, wearing elastic waistband pants (and I only have one pair) is a milestone for the average woman, and not one she is proud of. Right up there with skirted bathing suits, elastic waistbands are the first step in a slippery slope off fashion faux pas. I have already been wearing a skirted bathing suit for years. It just looks better. But I have managed to hold off on the elastic waistband, until now. It was a decision made when I was having a bad day. I was tired and uncomfortable wearing pants that were slightly tight. Actually, if the button on the waistband had let go, it could have taken someone's eye out. I was packed into these pants like a sardine. It doesn't matter what size they are, when pants don't fit will, it is desperately uncomfortable. Every breath is a conscious expansion of your waistband. It just plain hurts. And so, with the elastic waistband pants in hand, I made a decision. Call me lazy,but I was just so sick about worrying if I could breathe comfortably the next time I went to work. Here in my hands was the solution. It didn't require not eating or giving up dessert forever, it was just a fashion adjustment that would never be seen. But it is a mindset. And I plunged into feeling badly for the rest of the week. On good days, I can still wear the other well fitted slacks that I own, and I will do that as long as possible. But at some point you just begin to ask "why?". "Why am I killing myself here?". At fifty years old no matter how good I look, I will never be the babe at the party. I will be the fifty year old who looks good for her age, or not. Recognizing where I am in my life, and celebrating the realities, is a skill I intend to perfect. There is nothing scarier than watching a woman who will not give up her youth, even if it is only in Her mind. I am reminded of The Cat Woman. No amount of surgery is going to make her look younger. Only more and more desperate. An expanding waistline I can live with. Surgically enhanced cheekbones and plumper lips is not something I am looking to acquire, at any point. And so, I face the future with optimism and now, comfort. Soon I will be exploring the possibilities of "comfortable shoes" and "easy care" fabrics. Things I would have turned my nose up at just a few short years ago, but not now. It's not about fashion on regular days. Sure, dressing up and going out is still something I love to do, and intend to do as often as possible, but I no longer fear the day to day effort required to just get up and out comfortably. Without having to suffer through a fat day without breathing normally. If I am working around the house or heading out to work for the day, I may choose to dress comfortably. Or not. Why does good fashion have to be uncomfortable? Am I really a candidate for a makeover? I'm still not really sure how I feel about this, but there they are hanging in the closet and ready to go. I can talk the talk, but can I walk the walk? It's a scary transition.
Walter and Sal are here for the weekend. I will be eating 'smores and enjoying every one. That may be the decider. If I can't close my pants, I will be an elastic convert. In a heartbeat. Stay tuned.