Perhaps the most interesting part of weight loss is the adventure of transitioning between sizes. I've been anxiously awaiting the day that I could safely wear my next smallest size, stashed safely in the dresser, without causing a riot on Main Street. Today is that day - but it doesn't come without a little bit of work first.
I'm not entirely sure why designers added spandex and lycra into perfectly good jeans. Depending on the day of the week, it can be a good thing or a bad thing. In the case of today's jeans, it's a "work" thing.
Allow me to explain.
Lycra may make a pair of jeans more comfortable, but when they first come out of the wash, they require a good deal of stretching out to loosen them enough so that 1) you can't see the imprint of "Hanes" on the band of my underwear through the jeans; and 2) you are spared the temptation of asking me if my legs are made of wax - because how else could I have possibly poured myself into them?
Here's the ritual: Before attempting to don the jeans, I put my arms into the legs and pull in opposite directions as hard as I can. I also attempt to stretch this particular pair down, since they are a tad bit short. Now I can go through the agonizing process of trying to tug them up to my waist. Once I get the waistband in place, I reach around and stretch the butt out, hoping to avoid horrendous pantylines. Then the pants are zipped.
That's the easy part. Now I go through a serious of squats, jumping jacks, leg lifts, and plies to further loosen said pair of jeans. (All the time my dog is watching me, head cocked to the side. I suspect he is thanking God that he can run around with it all hanging out.) After 20 minutes or so, the lycra has given up the rebellion, and has loosened to acceptably modest proportions. Now I can go to church without stopping by the confessional box.
Thirty minutes later, I stand up for a prayer - and realize that the lycra hasn't given up the rebellion at all, but instead employed a new tactic. This time it decides to stretch out like a piece of salt-water taffy, and my jeans have now dropped three inches from my waist. Oh, yeah -they're loose now, baby! I spend the rest of services attempting to discreetly pull them up, so as not to attract the attention of the pre-pubescent boys on the pew behind me. I'm just hoping that their mommas taught them to close their eyes during prayers!
All this to wear a pair of pants that will only fit correctly for 23 minutes!