Well, it’s that time of year again, girls. It’s that time of year when we pull out those little short shorts and say “What the hell happened?”
I went out on a limb at the end of last summer, said “Why not? When I am an old woman I shall wear purple and all that shit” and I got this hot little pair of bright yellow short-shorts. Usually my bottom-half wardrobe consists of three colors: black, khaki, blue (jeans). I took a walk on the wild side, and I probably don’t have to tell you that I felt like 20 year old again in those little babies. (If a 20 year old is always exhausted and has chronic back pain and an iffy bladder, that is). I’d look in the mirror and think to myself, “Hello, hot stuff!”
I pulled those suckers out the other day when I got home from school. I might have had to tug a little bit to get them over my hips. I might have had to suck in my tummy, and then suck in my sucking in to get them zipped. When it was all said and done and I looked in the mirror all I could think this year is, “Muffin anyone?”
I’m tired of this closet of mine randomly shrinking my favorite summer clothes. I swear it happens every winter. And I know it’s not the dryer’s fault because when I squeezed my hand into my pocket I removed a receipt from The Frosty Frog in Hilton Head, which I apparently visited the last time I wore these babies before school started. I’m thinking it was when me and Jeanday were having our All-Girls-End-of-the-Summer-Hurrah, but unfortunately I don’t remember.
It’s not just the Spanx-like constriction of those shorts that was concerning, though. When I looked down at my legs, I noticed that my grandma’s legs were sticking out of those yellow shorts. Somehow over the summer I’ve got too much skin for my leg and it’s like sagging there. And in the back, there’s cottage cheese under it. And again I say, “What the hell?”
I guess it’s time to get serious about this watching what I eat thing that I kept saying would some day catch up to me. I guess age gets us all eventually, but I’m not going down quietly. Bring it on, Father Time, you little bitch. I’m coming for you.
PS – I totally polished off two pieces of eating during the writing of this blog post.