Symbolism and Skinny Jeans

I have been starving dieting for about 2 weeks now. I keep trying to tell myself that I’m just eating healthier, but who am I kidding? I’m dieting hard core. I need to just suck it up and take it like a woman. I’m eating more fruits and veggies. More lean meat. Low carb and no sugar. Lots of water. And my one indulgence is my 100 calorie Klondike bar I reward myself with after dinner occasionally…or every night…

Anyway, this week (week 3) I am starting to notice my weight redistributing. This is usually what happens to me when I start to lose weight. My body starts to shift around. I got super excited about this on Tuesday when I noticed it, so Wednesday morning I woke up and thought, “This is the day.” I showered and even shaved my legs in preparation. When when I threw my closet door open, I reached for my… SKINNY JEANS. If you are a woman, you own at least one pair of skinny jeans. If you are a man, let me explain further.

Skinny jeans is that one pair of jeans you have held onto from the days when you were blissfully skinny. They are the jeans that make your butt look like a butt and your thighs look like pencils. They are worn in all the right places and have the perfect flare at the bottom. And over the years, as you have put on more weight and been forced to buy bigger sized pants, you just can’t bring yourself to throwing the skinny jeans away because of what they represent – a waistline.

So, there I am staring at my skinny jeans laid out on my bed. Now I have the most fantastic pair of skinny jeans ever. Michael Kors. No one makes jeans like that man. Each pair comes with its own ass. They are amazing. And I’ve missed them. Oh, how I’ve missed them. So I lotion up my legs to make them slide on a bit easier, and then I’m ready to slip into them.

Only, they are stuck. Where they are always stuck. At my thighs. I pull, I wiggle, I twist into shapes I shouldn’t be twisting into. They don’t budge. My skinny jeans have won again. But this time, I’ve had enough. I can’t take the pressure anymore. So, I peel them from my body, walk straight to the trashcan in my bathroom, and throw them out. I’ve been working so hard on my diet, and I’m tired of that one pair of fantastically perfect jeans judging me. Michael Kors and his perfect jeans can kiss my fat…. nevermind.

About an hour later, I am down in the dining room working on my laptop and I start to hear Molly and Lucy going crazy in the living room. They are really romping together good. Never resisting the chance to play along, I go skipping into the living room, ready to jump right in and wrestle and suddenly, I stop. I’m horrified. I’m terrified. I’m mortified. I’m mystified.

There are my two dogs, tugging at opposite ends of (…dramatic pause…) MY SKINNY JEANS!!!!! Molly had apparently taken them out of the trash can and dragged them around the house for a while. I know this because Molly frequently takes things out of my trashcan and drags them around the house for a while. And they had ended up here. In my living room. Being torn to shreds by my dogs.

Now, I’m a symbolic person. I think God sends me signs everyday, and its up to me to be tuned in enough to know how to interpret them. But this I had no interpretation of. Does this mean the jeans should stay in my life? I mean, they did come back from the dead of my bathroom trashcan. On the other hand, they came back from the dead of my bathroom trashcan only to be ripped to pieces by my beast-like dogs. Man, I wish I had paid more attention in my philosophy classes! I’m sure there was a lecture somewhere in there about things coming back into your life unexpectedly, or about skinny jeans.

So now I don’t know what to do. I wrestled the skinny jeans away from my dogs and buried them in a spare closet until I knew what to do with these divinely inspired pants. And then I ate a Hershey bar and called it a day.