Sep 23, 2010 12:42
Damn, I may be taking this stretch pants thing too far. It's weird enough that ending my job and my relationship with Martin in the same month has got me wanting to wear skirts, voluminous or mini, every single day. Putting leggings on underneath was supposed to be a concession to my customary, pants-wearing self, the one I'm still carrying around under this bizarrely comfortable femme garb, the one that's not going to refrain from putting her feet a meter apart on the table no matter what she's wearing.
It was not supposed to be The Next Step.
I had a private yoga/posture consultation yesterday with one of my ex-coworkers. I showed up at her house wearing enough shaped cloth layers to yield a sort of impenetrable Mary Poppins silhouette; poor kind thing, she went straight to work figuring out how to read my body through the stuff without saying a word. We walked to a park and rolled out her dirtiest mats. I stripped off layer after layer and stood there in hot pink stretch pants with little cotton boy briefs over the top.
She yelled in relief.
They are out now, guys, and I fear they may not go back without a fight. I haven't been able to get myself to change out of this costume yet.
Anyhow, I am ready for my next superhero party. I think I will go as "the wreckage of your dreams"