Looking like a fool

I’ve loved losing weight. I love feeling healthier, happier and more confident than I have in years. I love watching the scale move (in the right direction, for once).
But you know what I don’t love?

My pants.

General Larry Platt sang it best when he auditioned for American Idol. And lately, I am indeed looking like a fool with my pants on the ground.

Now I know this may seem like I’m just trying to find something to whine about. But I feel like I’ve been looking increasingly frumpy the past few months. I’ve actually had a few meltdowns because I think I look like such a slob.

I’ve bought a few pairs of pants, which have fit me for a while, but I’ve outgrown (outshrunk?) those. I’m also trying not to spend a ton of money on new clothes that hopefully will only fit me for a month or so. I found a skirt in my closet that had been several sizes too small. I was excited to have something new to wear. Alas, I apparently passed the stage where it fit me and now it’s too big. I almost had a wardrobe malfunction of epic proportions when I attempted to wear it to church this weekend.

A couple of weeks ago, I went to Old Navy to buy a couple of tops. This is exciting because for the past few years I’ve only been able to shop at Old Navy online, where they sell the Women’s Plus line. Now I can actually shop in the store.

Just for kicks, I took a pair of jeans into the dressing room with me. I didn’t expect them to fit, because they didn’t have that W on the end of the tag. I told myself I wouldn’t get upset if they didn’t fit me. There’s just something about pants that has scared me. I’m afraid I’ll try on a size and they won’t fit and I’ll feel like a failure. So I promised to be gentle to myself.

I walked into the dressing room, clutching my shirts and immediately hanging my jeans on the wall. I looked sideways at them as I tried on the tops and picked the ones I wanted to buy. Finally, I tentatively took them off the hanger and slipped them on. I giggled at myself thinking how small they would be.

But they weren’t. Oh my gosh, they fit! Cue me, happy dancing in the dressing room. Literally.

Unfortunately, the only ones they had in my size were skinny jeans. I’m no 20-something hipster, and I haven’t worn skinny jeans since 1987 when I begged my mom for the Guess jeans with the tiny little zippers on the ankles. But I bought them anyway, because I was so thrilled they fit.

I headed over to my friend Rebecca’s house. I knew she’d tell me if I could pull them off. So I put them on. And, bless her, she took one look at me and told me that nope, skinny jeans were just not for me. As I suspected. But then she said the most magical words: “They’re actually a little too big for you.” Booyah.

P.S. Had a good weigh-in this week. Got rid of 3.2 pounds for a total of 62.7.