The Rip Heard Round the World

Yesterday I got up, put on my favorite jeans, and because they were fresh out of the laundry I'm sure, I began the ritual procession of swats and wiggles, designed to shake oneself into every possible crevice of one's pants. It was mid-squat that I heard the tearing sound sure to strike fear into the heart of any woman with only one good pair of jeans.

Alas, my pants had ripped. Now, they didn't split up the seat, but just below my left butt cheek at the inseam. This could only mean one thing....my ass has gotten so big it is actually trying to escape! There, spilling out from between the fibers of my very favorite jeans, was my inner thigh, that bulgy, squishy part of your leg that gets the chafe when you wear skirts in the summer.

I mean you can imagine my distress. First of all, these were my best jeans, you know the ones that hold your parts in all the right places and always make your backside look like it's just the right kinda round. Apparently, though, even the best jeans can hold your ass in for only so long...even denim can't stretch far enough to accommodate my expanding assets...perhaps they should look into increasing the lycra-to-cotton ratio in jeans today.

Anyway, so distraught was I over the loss of my favorite pants, that I carried myself right across town to my friends Homeslice and Kaiifa's apartment (Fashionslave lives there too, but sadly she had to work and therefore could not spend the day consoling me.) Like the good friends they are, Homeslice proceeded to fry me some tortilla chips, while Kaiifa poured me my first of what would be about 97 Mimosas. I mean to tell you, by about the 4th bottle of champagne, I was totally unconcerned about the rip in my jeans and more than a little concerned about the shortage of spinach dip (which wasn't a shortage 10 minutes before). For a while there I was certain I had discovered the secret to accepting your weight was drinking your weight in champagne. Alas, no weightloss programs should be conceived through the all-day fuzziness of a Mimosa Haze. For though I was livin large yesterday in every sense of the world, I have awoken to find my ass no smaller and my jeans no looser, oh, and judging by the takeout boxes, my appetite no more satisfied. Looks like tortilla chips at noon turned into burritos and nachos by 8.

I'll be at my desk starving myself- and wearing sweatpants- for the rest of the week if anyone needs me.