It’s cold today. Rain coming down. I’m wearing a heavy flannel shirt and a pair of jeans that fit me better last spring. Wonder why that is…
Oh right…the carrot cake. I don’t drink. I don’t do drugs. But after Mama died, I did carrot cake like it was crack. Like I couldn’t get enough. I had to have it–EVERY DAY. Every day for six weeks. I would go on carrot cake hunts, seeking out the best in town. I’d buy it by the piece because I didn’t dare keep a full one in the house. And then I’d stand there like this crazy woman eyeballing the selection to figure out which was the biggest piece and telling the clerk I had to have THAT one. No, no–THAT one, the one behind the one she was trying to sell me. And it had to have cream cheese frosting, the real deal. Not a schmere of frosting but a thick-heavy-solid-artery-clogging heap ‘o creamy sugar goodness.
It could even be a carrot muffin, as long as it had the cream cheese.
And then… Just. Like. That. I woke up one morning and realized I didn’t want it anymore.
By that time it was summer and I was in my loose, baggy cargo pants, the kind of pants that are like the old fashioned circus car–you know the one I’m talking about, small car like an old VW bug. Comes to a stop and the clowns keep pouring out. Like, where did they come from? And how did they fit in there? And when are they going to STOP coming out? And you’re kicking yourself because you didn’t start counting ’em right away and you don’t know how many it’s been but it has to be at least fifteen. Or forty. Or three hundred.
Well, that’s what those cargo pants are like. Put them on and you are totally unaware that you’re in big trouble because your fat cells are multiplying like Tribbles–and if you’re too young to know what a Tribble is or if you’re too old to remember, then watch this before reading any further.
Back from Tribbles? Okay, so I was saying all the time I wore these loose, comfy pants I had NO idea what was going on inside them. Not. A. Clue.
Until the cold front moved in and I decided to wear my jeans, the ones that had been shrinking in the closet all summer….
About the battle with the zipper? I will spare you the grizzly details. I won…but it wasn’t pretty.
I wore those jeans all day…and I did not pass out.
But I considered it.