Goodbye fat pants
For the first time in our three-year history as roommates and our six-year history as friends, Lena and I have lost weight at the same time. This is not supposed to be a post about vanity or our best impression of a Subway “Jared” commercial. I honestly didn’t realize that my clothes had become so incredibly huge until I brought home new pants and compared them to the glorified potato sacks I’d been wearing.
A couple nights ago Lena was kind enough to sit on the floor of my bathroom/closet/boudoir and help me assemble a few outfits from three new purchases and my previous wardrobe. Our goal was simple: to find ways for me to start looking like a working professional and stop looking like a prime example of my favorite new made-up word.
Let me introduce you to “the frumpster,” a person whose clothes are two sizes too big.
Here’s your visual representation:
The “Before” trousers
You know how people say that in order to lose weight a person should eat right and exercise?
While I believe this is probably true, the real catalyst that caused my shape to change was falling ill with some type of super-cold in early November AFTER jump-starting my metabolism through regular exercise. I like to refer to this as “the plague period,” and they were dark days indeed.
Lena lost weight because she literally worked her buns off during a collaborative group project for school. Apparently when someone’s body is awake and completing intense graphic design projects for 20 hours a day it burns a lot more calories. Go figure.
The “After” trousers
Lena is embracing her new slim and trim body and has started a collection for Goodwill. She is diligently adding more and more items to the pile daily. I haven’t set aside any clothes for charity yet and those ridiculous pants in the “Before” photo are sitting in my hamper, waiting to be washed, folded and put back in my drawer. My hesitancy toward purging my old clothes is probably due to a minor hoarding problem and the fear that those pants will become my correct size once again.
Do you think I should have the courage to chuck ‘em?
Finally, and because I’m not positive that I’ll have the opportunity to discuss the topic of pants on my blog again, I’d like to share some of my random English knowledge. I apologize if I seem a little crass, but I really have the best intentions.
In England, you must say “trousers” if you ever need to talk about pants, which the British understand to be underwear. And no matter how rainy it is in London, never — I mean NEVER — complain that your “pants” are wet.
End lesson.
