A to Z of Aging: K is for Keeping it Real

Not too long ago, Michelle Pfeiffer said, “The older you get, the less you can cheat.”
My takeaway message was: Michelle Pfeiffer cheats? Awesome!
And continued to inhale whatever horribly over-caloric item was in my greedy hands.
Today, I lost a third pair of work pants to a Mystery Something. The something? I don’t know. Because those pants fit not three months ago. (Maybe six…)
And yet, last week, boom, I lost two pairs of perfectly wonderful, summer-worthy, pocketed pants.
(Casual note to non-female-attire wearers: pocketed pants are like appropriately fitted jeans: RARE! Thus, we ladies hold onto those like they’re made from unicorn hide; I exaggerate not, pockets are that important.)
Both of my favorite buttoned-at-the-fly, zipper-holding-its-own-thank-heavens trousers were down! (Literally. I threw them to the floor like they bit me, which they did, ravenously rending apart my especially fragile ego; the Great Pant Duplicity proved too much that day, though I blamed hot water in the washing machine for shrinkage…because, duh, of course. The second pair? Yeah…a tiny bit of mental reckoning was due because I’m not that bad in the laundry room…)
Today? A third pair, relegated to the floor for trampling, just like my questionable hold on youth and glee.
I wore a pair of lounge pants and an oversized tee to work, unapologetically and sneering, daring anyone to question whether or not I realized I needed to do some laundry.
Remarkably, my morning was great. I was happy, cheerful and able to breathe! (Because lounge pants are the best.)
Then I realized, hey! I faced my middle aged-ness, at least for a couple of hours, and I lived to now tell the tale.
Hold your horses with the kudos for self-actualization…because after work I went straight to the ice cream store, unabashedly begging for just a touch more chocolate sauce and oh, hey, is that an Oreo? Yeah, toss that bad boy on there, too. Sundaes for everybody!
Yep, this morning, I Kept it Real, a sign of maturity, a sign of growth, a sign of colossal dismissal of youth and fitting into a bathing suit, which, all things considered, is a plus.
Also: for the remainder of the day I’m eschewing carbs.
So take that, larger-than-last-year thighs. No bread for you! No more padding for you until dawn, when waffles sound just too tempting…
Yes! Waffles at daybreak! With coffee, and eggs, and a dose of reality, because after breakfast, I must go buy new pants…

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