my white pants

Since we're sharing fat stories and all, I thought I'd share with you the story of my white pants.

It's not exactly a fat story...well, it sort of is. But it's a sad story.

You'll see.



Did I ever share with you the reason I first started trying to lose weight? The very first time I exercised with that intent?

No?

It was airplane sickness.

Yes, I said airplane sickness.

So my family had just gone on our first trip to Hawaii. I felt fat the whole time. On the way home I got sick on the flight from LAX to Dallas. Don't ask me why we had a layover in Dallas--I don't plan these things.

Anyway, so I threw up in an airplane sickness bag.

Twice.

It wasn't pretty, but I didn't feel quite so bad because about five other members of my family were sick.

The flight attendants were overheard telling other passengers that there was a "family with the flu" on board.

You can't make this stuff up.

No, we didn't have the flu. It's just that we ate supper at about 5pm on Hawaii, caught a flight to LAX at 11pm later that night, and only had about 30 minutes to catch our connecting flight to Dallas. So we're talking no food for over 12 hours. It's not recommended. Now I always make sure I eat a little something before I fly. And you can bet I take my Dramamine like it's going out of style.

But this is about white pants.

When I got home after that disastrous day of flying I realized I had lost a couple pounds.

No, I did not decide to be bulimic. And no, I'm not anorexic, as I know some people believe. Think about it. It doesn't take anorexic people two years to lose forty pounds. Honestly, people. And if you know me at all you know there's no way on earth I could ever be anorexic. I love food way too much.

Anyway, that was the beginning. I thought, hey, I can lose weight! At that point I probably weighed about 20 pounds more than I do now. That was November of my senior year of high school.

By spring I had lost about ten pounds and had to buy some new clothes. I got some light material white pants. I loved them. I wore them all the time and I felt good in them.

In fact, the only time I ever, in the history of my life, was verbally hit on I was wearing those pants.

"You want some fries to go with that shake?"

You can't make this stuff up.

No, I don't know who it was. I didn't turn around to look.

So I had my white pants, and I loved my white pants, and I wore my white pants all the time that spring and summer.

Then I went to college. Forget about the freshman fifteen, I gained the freshman thirty. Well, more like the freshman ten and the sophomore twenty, but what's the difference?

My white pants didn't fit anymore. It was sad and depressing. At the end of my sophomore year I decided to do something about it. So I started losing weight.

It took forever.

One day late in the next summer, about thirty pounds into my forty-pound weight loss, I pulled out those white pants. And you wouldn't believe it, but they fit! I was so happy! I wore them a couple more times that summer and then it was time to put them away for the winter.

The next spring I pulled them out, all excited as can be to wear my white pants again.

I bet you can see this coming.

They didn't fit anymore. No, they weren't too small, they were too big. You see, I had lost about ten more pounds and my white pants were falling off my tush.

You would not even believe how sad I was. And every time I tell this story--without fail--the person I'm telling it to will say, "But you must have been happy you lost more weight!"

NO! Well, yes. But it was overshadowed by my extreme sadness over my white pants no longer fitting. I rediscovered them for so short a time, and then to have them taken away from me so suddenly! Heartbreaking.

It was probably shortly after I wrote this. Obviously this is something I've had a problem with for a while.

To this day I cannot get over those white pants. I loved them so much. I tried to buy a new pair last summer but they aren't the same. They don't fit right and my butt is too big for them and I'm afraid someday someone will see something they shouldn't. If you catch my meaning.

I'm always sad about my old clothes. I really don't have a lot of clothes left anymore. Not a single thing I own is older than two years. Except maybe a sweatshirt or two. And shoes, obviously. But nothing else still fits. Even some of my rings are too big for my fingers.

You can imagine, I hope, if you had to replace your whole wardrobe what a pain that would be. And I bet there would be a couple items you'd be very sad to leave. Like my white pants.

Maybe you have some white pant stories. I would enjoy hearing them.

Misery loves company, and all.