It Just Got Real

            I did it!  It has been one long year of Pandemic, COVID-SNOVID, and sheltering in place and I finally did it.  I tried on my jeans.

            For one harrowing year I have worn workout clothes.  Lyra, polyester, stretchy cotton, and spandex.  Nothing else.  Oh, a few times during the hot summer I wore moo-moo type sundresses, but by and large it’s been workout pants.

            I’ve dressed them up and even worn them the few times we’ve gone out to eat.  I have not gone anywhere that had a dress code.  I think I have even begun to fool myself into thinking no one cares.  Psychologically, I feel that when I’m wearing my mask, no one can see me anyway.  I already don’t wear makeup below my nose.

            Teleconference with my doctor?  Zoom party with friends?  Texting?  Church online?  Curbside pickup?  Who sees me anyway?  And the worst part is that I haven’t cared.

            Boo and I have been lucky enough to get our vaccines and it looks as though we may take a trip to Colorado soon.  The bad news began as I smugly got out my ski pants and tried to put them on.

            “Whoa!  What’s going on in here?”  Boo asked.  “What’s all the grunting and groaning?”

            “I’m trying on my ski pants.  DON’T COME IN!”

            Perilously I laid on the bed, flat as Flat Stanley, and slowly began to zip, careful not to pinch the extra skin that was not there five years ago when I easily wore two layers underneath.  I finally got them zipped and hooked the closure, which looked as if the threads were disintegrating right before my eyes.  I stood up.

            “I can breathe,” I said to myself, but then I couldn’t sit back down. 

            That was a wake-up call, because I instantly thought of my jeans.  I ooched out of my ski pants and went to the closet flipping through hangers with jeans that said: Straight leg, skinny jeans, low rise.  Good grief!  Where are my jeggings?  My high waisted, relaxed fit?  This was not for the faint of heart.  I had to find one pair that fit.

            I spotted my all-time favorite pair draped unsuspectingly under the low-rise jeans.  “Please fit.”  I begged them as I headed for the bed to assume the position.

            “You’ve always been my favorite,” I crooned to my jeans.  “You’ve never let me down.  I need you.”          

            It’s not only that I mind getting a larger size, but also the whole trauma involved in finding a pair of jeans that fit perfectly and always work.  It takes a lot of effort and confidence and frankly, I’m fragile after my spandex wearing, no make-up, pony-tail swinging covid year.

            Just then, the sun started to shine, I heard a birdie outside my window, and I zipped my jeans and cautiously snapped them at the waist.  As I stood looking in the mirror, I knew they didn’t look exactly like they did a year ago, but they zipped, and I was oh so grateful.

            I have come to believe that nothing will ever be the same after this year.  We’ve all developed a new way of interacting and behaving during this traumatic time.  But friends, keep your eye on the positive, keep your sense of humor and for goodness sake, keep your favorite jeans…they just might fit.