In late June, at the worst of my size and self-esteem, I went shopping. There was an Avenue shop going out of business, and my girlfriend and I went to scope out the deals. I like a wide-leg trouser style jean (thank you, five years of Stacy London telling me What Not to Wear), and there was a lovely dark wash pair in a 26. Not exactly petite, right? So I haul on these jeans and they are...too tight. Not by much, but by enough for me to think, "If I lose a few pounds, they'll be cute." A SIZE 26. What the hell was I on? Fat girl reality check: NO clothing is cute in a size 26. NONE. Nevertheless, I buy them.
Fast forward to today: we've sort of reached dry cleaning critical mass, and I'm digging through the bowels of my pant section for work-appropriate pants that fit. I unearth these trouser pants and think, "eh. What the hell. Let's give it a go.". I put on these same "maybe if I lose some weight" jeans, and lo and behold...
I belted those damn jeans up and wore them to school just so I could show them to EVERYONE. Boo-yah. Tonight, when I got home, I looked into the nemesis that is my pantry, and I smiled. Bowl of pasta...not to-DAY, baby. Not today.
Breakfast - the latte
Lunch - broccoli and almonds
Dinner - Swiss cheese and two slider patties
Exercise - Bollywood jam with my older son
Still fat, still struggling. Tomorrow could break me. But, tonight...peace.
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