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It was Friday night. I had not been out in what seemed like an eternity and I had Beyonce’s “Homecoming” album on as I was getting ready, having a glass of wine, trying to channel my inner queen bee….
…And then it happened.
Something so insidious that I didn’t see it coming; it overcame any sort of joy I had about going out. In fact, it caused me so much angst and frustration that I didn’t even want to go out anymore.
I approached my closet kinda nervous. This happens when I haven’t gone out for a substantial amount of time and I have to find an outfit to wear. I looked at my jeans and they looked back at me and said, “not tonight babe.” You know that feeling…a premonition where if you decide to put jeans on they might feel a little snug.
I picked out the jeans of least resistance — the ones that I knew fit.
THEY DON’T FIT.
Jeans, by nature, are tight, we know this, but you also know the difference between tight and TIIIGGGHHTTT. You feel it in your thighs — that extra pull, that extra tug, literally bursting out the seams. You feel it in your waist, that muffin top just got a little bit more muffin topppyyy.
I put them on, got to the zipper, and began jumping up and down wildly. Suddenly a vivid memory of myself as a sophomore in college at a Kappa Sig frat party jumping up and down to House of Pain’s “Jump Around” infiltrated my brain.
”Jump, jump, jump!!”
Someone, please sign me up for a Plyometrics class. I can’t stop jumping and my jeans are still not cooperating with me.
Next up I tried doing a yoga pose that also doubles as a stretching technique to loosen jeans until you rip the thigh (did that in college, really good for the ego). It’s called Warrior 2; only I was not feeling like a goddess warrior, I was feeling like a busted can of biscuits.
The only valid conclusion I could come up with as to why my jeans were so tight was because they were dried on high — which speaks more to my mental state than an explanation for my jeans not fitting. After tending to the flesh wound that was the result of the zipper getting stuck on my skin from trying to suck it in, I realized I had to have a come to Jesus with myself. “Marcella, sweetie, you have gained weight. Your jeans no longer fit.”
How did this happen? I mean what? It couldn’t be the bottle of wine I downed nightly after Trump took office or perhaps it’s because I haven’t seen a gym in at least 3 months.
And then it occurred to me.
It’s not the wine or not getting to the gym. I mean, that is part of it… but there is something much more cryptic at work here; something that just flies under the radar, something you never think about.
It’s my leggings.
MY LEGGINGS ARE MAKING ME FAT!
I wear my leggings every day. Every. Single. Day. And when you wear leggings (or anything sans a button and zipper) consistently every day over time without doing a literal gut check, you do not realize that you are slowly but surely putting on some extra pounds; they suck you in (the good ones), but they also make you literally DELUSIONAL.
Your jeans are your friend. They will remind you that “ohhh wait a second honeyyyyy, do you really need that entire bottle of wine in one sitting?” (said in her best Jonathan from Queer Eye voice).
Your jeans would NEVER have gotten you in this predicament. Your jeans are like that friend that keeps you in check, tells it like it is; you may not want to hear from them but you know you need to.
Leggings, on the other hand, don’t care. They are your bestie, your comfy dominion; the problem is they put you in a place of sheer denial, and if like me you haven’t had to put on jeans in a couple of weeks you might be in a bit of a pickle.
To remedy this and to ensure none of you have to go through this wretched experience that leaves you feeling like a straight-up walrus, I have come up with the following solution:
One day a week, you wear denim, as in JEANS. NOT Spanx denim jeggings or anything with an elastic waistband. JEANS, with an actual button and zipper.
Wearing jeans isn’t just for you, however.
It’s for your ride-or-die leggings. You simply MUST give your leggings a rest.
Pick a day of the week, put on your “going out” jeans and a sexy, grown-ass woman top, and own how fab you are, and then you thank those jeans for reminding you to not go ahead and have that 4th glass of wine.
The reward for the most uncomfortable day of the week: over time you will no longer have to worry about that bumble blind date or night out with the hubs or girl’s night out, where you put your jeans on only to have to squat like you are in an Olympics trial for weightlifting to get them over your muffin top; instead, you will simply slide those skinny jeans on and cheers to your cute ass self cuz you can still fit into those jeans!