Sunday, January 25, 2009

The Mistake Of The Skinny Pants

On Thursday night, I found myself hiding out behind the door to my minivan, pretending to be casually looking around for anyone who might be able to see me, and stealthily (about as stealthily as a dog on ice) reaching up under the bottom of my sweatshirt and pulling a Late Thanksgiving Day maneuver. I unbuttoned my pants- much to my relief, and it felt like I'd won the lotto. But in order to understand WHY I would be so desperate to unbutton my pants in public, I should start at the beginning and not the end.

It was a brilliant idea, really. The best idea I'd had all week, not to be topped by any other. After showering and making myself presentable for the fundraising pork chop dinner for Smoochie's wrestling club, I had an epiphany. I'm on a diet. Pork chop dinners made by one of our local barbeque places are probably not the most flattering diet food. If I put on my 'skinny' jeans and wear them to the fundraiser, I would not be tempted to overeat. In fact, I'd probably be tempted not to eat at all and that was a great feat since I was already half starved. So I put on jeans I had to shake and shimmy (and hold my breath, suck in my cheeks, jump up and down, and wow this is a workout all on its own) just to get into, and camouflaged my muffin top with a giant baggy sweatshirt.

I should have known something was amiss when I had to ask Bonehead to tie my shoes for me. I should have taken the hint when he raised his eyebrows at me and stated the obvious, "You know you will have to sit on bleachers at the wrestling meet after dinner, right?" Which interprets to "Hey dumbass, why don't you go put on some pants you can BEND in." Apparently my Bonehead to English translater was broken because I didn't get it.

I was not prepared for the throng of people there, because seriously, who watches high school wrestling anyway? Apparently, when its the last dual meet of the season, and the moon is three quarters full, and the opposing team is our rival neighbor town, its like a scene from Friday Night Lights. And of course, having taken my minivan, the stroller would be in the back of John's car.

So to bring the situation up to speed, I have an 11 month old who is rapidly gaining weight, a large crowd of people who seem to think stopping directly in front of you is funny, a throng of high school kids behaving like overhormonal monkeys, and pants that are causing me to turn blue from their overzealous squeeze.

I found us a table while John and Smooch waited in an hour long line to get our dinner. The wait was seriously an hour, it is not an overdramatization or an embellishment of my story. An hour at a crappy fold up cafeteria table with a baby who thinks looking at the world upside down is so cool he will throw himself backward at the drop of a hat any time he gets the urge.

John and Smooch finally showed up with the food, and then fate decided to kick me while I was down. After the first bite or two I developed gas. And boy howdy, wasn't that nice? Being in a throng of people with enough breeding to try my hardest to be polite and not let any escape, I began to bloat. Because I had ALL THE ROOM IN THE WORLD to bloat. I made my hubby tie my shoes for crying out loud, could fate be any crueler?

Yes, apparently.

Because after dinner, it was time to go sit on the forwarned bleachers. With no back rest, a baby now ready for bed, a 7 year old boy who is incapable of sitting still, gas, too tight jeans, and trying to keep a smile on my face through it all. By that point in my evening I probably resembled the toothy Jack Nickleson looking through the door in The Shining.

We left early, thank goodness, not to put me out of my misery, but because it was already bed time for Smoochie. I tried to sprint to the minivan in the parking lot, but the best I could pull off was a Gumby-esque move and pray to make it to the van without passing out from lack of oxygen.

Which led me to my executive decision behind my minivan door on Thursday night. Aah, sweet relief. I drove home with a renewed appreciation for air and wondering if my muffin top might have actually been swelling from the tourniquet around my waist.

I should really look into getting my Bonehead to English translater fixed.


for a different kind of girl said...

OMG, I laughed and laughed throught this because, hand to God, I've done pretty much the same thing when convincing myself my tight pants are the best idea. It absolutely never fails that one will develop gas while wearing said pants. NEVER FAILS!!

Oh, I laugh because it's so, so true...


Prefers Her Fantasy Life said...

Been there too. I'm just thankful those baby-doll maternity-like tops are in style now.

Kat said...

I think the reason for the gas was because the too tight pants actually cut off any escape path for the excess gas. It is a wonder you didn't explode. Thanks for the Monday morning (well afternoon for me) laugh!

Traci said...

OMG....I am laughing so hard....great read. Now go EAT!!! Bahaaaaaa....

Mom said...

To funny maybe next time you think this way take sweatpants for escape reasons no pun intended! LOL

Amiee said...

You could always use MY trick. I used to do this when I was pregnant. Take a pony tail holder, or rubber band, and loop it through the button hole. Voila! A little extra breathing room =]

Mariel said...

That's hilarious. I've totally done the unbutton the pants thing!