Ode to Stretchy Jeans

After yesterday’s run-in with a wayward scale (at least I tell myself it was the scale that was wayward; do NOT judge me, it could happen), I awoke this morning somewhat apprehensively.  As I thought through what to wear, I excitedly remembered that it was Friday. Today, I had to go to an off-site meeting to which I could wear jeans.  YYYYYAAAAAAAYYYYY!!!!

It take so little to amuse me, really.

See, I bought a new outfit while I was in Raleigh, NC last week, and I was dying to wear it.  I put on the chocolate, brown turtleneck and the speckled brown and white, short-sleeved sweater, then slipped into the most divine creation man’s ever made, save, perhaps, Krispy Kremes (hyperlink included in case you need to place an emergency order; I won’t judge).

That’s right.  I’m talking about my stretch jeans.

Yesterday’s issues with the scale faded away the moment I put them on.  Snug up top and flared at the foot, they go great with my zip-up, brown, suede boots. They hold in fat in all the right places and trick my mind into believing that my body really doesn’t jiggle anywhere.

Ever.

You’re judging again. Stop it.

All day today, I walked around feeling the opposite of how I felt yesterday after the satanic scale incident.  In fact, one of my coworkers actually said to me, “Heather, you look cute today!”

I ignored the surprise in her voice as I responded, “Girl, I am cute.  This (I waved my hands up and down the sides of my torso) is cute,” as I smiled for effect.

She laughed, as I, more sincerely, thanked her for the compliment.

Suffice it to say, I love stretchy jeans like a fat kid loves Twinkies (again, with the emergency order; still not judging).

Glad it’s Friday,
Heather

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