Skip to main content

The Last Pair of SweatPants on Earth


          For fifty years of my life, for six, sometimes seven days a week, I wore what my grandmother called “Sunday best.”  I dressed up daily, put on makeup, fixed and sprayed my hair.  I wore heels.  And then I retired.
          Except for church on Sunday, I no longer needed to put on makeup daily.  I stopped fixing my hair and only ran my fingers through my short do.  I wore flip flops and house shoes, but every three or four days, I ran out of things to wear. I needed more play clothes in my rotation.
          Before I went shopping, I assessed what I had available and found a box of hand-me-downs my sons had given me when they moved away. It was full of extra-large tee-shirts and a stack of men’s, large, gray sweatpants.
          Up to then, I had ignored my weight gain; my dress slacks cut into my middle and I sometimes wore them without buttoning or hooking the waist.  I bought the larger dresses that take up the back half of the dress rack in stores.
          The moment I tried on my first sweat pant, they became my wardrobe staple. I wore them everywhere, every time, and I even considered pairing them with a nice top and knee high boots and wear them to church.
          By the second year, they started to show wear and I considered buying more, but it was time to face the truth.  I needed to work off the weight.  I joined a gym and replaced the sweat pants with yoga pants.  Yoga pants are what the Walmart Mom wears to Target. I wanted to recover some of my former dignity and worked on my weight and health.  I upped the ratio of yoga pants to sweat pants, and I did wear them to church on several occasions.  

          This year I lost over 30 lbs and downed my pant size to three times smaller than before. It was time to go through my wardrobe and give away a few items before I bought more. I kept a few good pairs of yoga pants, but there at the bottom of the drawer was a pair of sweat pants.  I measured them against my body. They fit, but then I walked over to the donation bag and stuffed them in among the rest of the clothes I no longer wanted.
         I am considering leggings next.  

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Dating Challenged

I stink at dating – always have.I sputter.I hyperventilate.I fail miserably every time. I blame a pathetically underdeveloped gene that got little use before I married in my early twenties, then atrophied, gathering dust and rust, until I became single again in my fifties. I decided to use this defect to my advantage when I needed to do some investigative reporting a few years back.While on a newspaper writing assignment on Boomer-aged dating, I sacrificed my dignity and my vanity for the sake of the story (and I got several).

Thank goodness, HoneyBunch saved me from all this when we married.  (He comes up with the best dates.) I’ve decided I will “show you mine if you show me yours.”I will swap dating horror stories with you, but you have to promise to play along. The trick here is to tell about your worst date in 25 words or less.You must keep it clean and you cannot name names. Our little contest will run only this week and before my next blogger posting. Me first: The facts:My mom f…

Happy Breastday to Me!

I gave myself a very special birthday present this year – I had surgery. Before you think it was to increase, decrease, or “lift” something, let me tell you it was not cosmetic (though I could probably use a few nips and tucks at my age; the infinite number of creams I buy OTC are not working their promised magic). About four or five months ago, I discovered a hard lump about the size of a large marble in my left armpit.  I had been feeling small pangs of pain in my left chest for several months, but I figured it was just my turn to dance with heart disease.  Everyone in my immediate family is diabetic and suffers from strokes or heart attacks, so I thought – here we go; my turn. I was going to tell my internist about the pangs during my next visit, so imagine my surprise when I discovered the lump. The Drama Queen in me immediately manifested herself – cancer, I thought.  I have cancer. I searched some more and found that the texture on the left side of my left breast felt different t…

Grandma’s Dining Table

Twenty five years ago my first husband and I bought a new home with four bedrooms and three baths, but my favorite part of the house was the enormous room you walked into from the front door. It had no dividing wall but the design was to use half of it as a formal living and the other half as a formal dining. From the beginning I decided to make it into one huge dining room that would catch the eye when everyone walked in through the front door of my home.   My three children were very young, but I envisioned them grown and married. We counted five at the time, but one day we would grow to eight, maybe more if we factored in grandchildren, so I bought a table that sat a family of twelve.  My husband thought it silly to look that far ahead and convinced me to buy only ten chairs. The room looked magnificent – the long, majestic table, the ten chairs, the buffet, a couple of real ficus, and a few other nice pieces of furniture – I was pleased. The table lasted longer than the marriage, a…