Hi. My name is Beckey, and I’m addicted to comfy pants. It’s been three days since I last wore comfy pants in public.
Here’s the thing: pants with a supportive elastic waistband are just plain comfortable. And they hold in my mom belly in nicely. I don’t have to worry about that tube of flexy skin wibbling about, waiving to my grocer and whatnot while I’m bending over to grab a gallon of milk.
What is that?
My belly stretches and gets huge for 9 months, then I pop out a baby, and the thanks I receive is a smooshie, mushy middle?
In order for me to feel normal, I need to holster my lady love. It needs to be tightly coddled inside the confines of my yoga pants for me to feel less jiggly and more free to experience the world.
It’s like those artfully shot tampon commercials; where they’re riding a horse on the Hawaiian shoreline. Or when the women start twirling around for no good reason.
Because they can.
In my mind, in order for me to twirl carelessly or ride into the sunset on a horse, I need to be snapped into place by my yoga pants.
They’re like spanx for my midsection.
Sound effect: WHAPPACCHHH!
But I want to look less schleppy.
I don’t want to look like I’ve just come from a cycling class at the gym everyday.
Because I haven’t been to the gym in two years.
I don’t even know where the gym is anymore.
So, here’s what:
I’m gonna wear jeans.
When I’m running errands.
Maybe looking nicer will convince me to work out every once in a while.
I’m hoping for a domino effect.
It’s going to feel weird at first. What with all that starchy fabric poking at my belly. But maybe I’ll get used to it.
It will be like when I got used to thong underwear.
At first a string going up my ass crack drove me crazy, now it’s like, meh, whatever.
I’m hoping in a few weeks jeans will be like my new cozy pants.
Or I can just get these:
Cozy pants that look like jeans!