random truths – Day 1,083 (Sunday) – panic and pants

On Saturday, time was spent trying on clothes from the closet. Five or six pairs of work pants that don’t fit were pulled, folded, and set aside in a pile. They will likely be donated, because even though they could probably be sold through a consignment shop, that takes a lot more work than setting them at the curb when the Big Brother Big Sister collection truck is in the area. Hopefully, having them gone from the closet will alleviate some of the morning wardrobe stress.

The casual pants/denim drawer was also reviewed. Several pairs of jeans were removed and stacked to disappear. One pair of beloved dark wash skinny leg jeans hasn’t fit for years. They might be considered an aspirational item if I was actually trying to lose weight to fit back into them. That trick used to work.

In my late 20s, my mood and comfort level with myself was affected by whether a single pair of size five Chic jeans fit. They usually didn’t, but on those magical times when they did, it felt like I could conquer the world. Years later, it was a pair of dark wash denim Vera Wang jeans that provided the power. There have been no such magical jeans for about the last 11 years, which is about the last time I felt invincible. Oh, the good old days. 

Refresh button.

Today’s panic shopping to backfill the drawer and closet started oddly enough with a fixation on boots before shifting to denim. Three pairs of jeans were tried on at TJ Maxx with comical horrible bad luck, but a peach patterned blouse and some white boots were bought. 

Over at Kohl’s, there was better luck with denim. Two pairs were tried and both fit. One pair was bought, and the other pair that was tried on confirmed that the jeans ordered online the other day will fit. On the drive home, I realized the blouse from TJ Maxx would go with the dress pants that were left in the Kohl's shopping cart because they weren't on sale. We can all probably guess what will happen next.

Everything was on sale. Until I wear them, things can be returned. These are the things I tell myself. And Winston, but he never knows (or cares) what I’m talking about unless the word “cookie” is part of it.