The following is a #truestory about my dumb self and jeans.

I started my day at 4:30 this morning. Had things to do, people to see, work to dominate.

Woke up, got out of bed, grabbed some clothes out of my closet and headed into the shower.

I specifically remember thinking “damn, these jeans aren’t comfortable” but truthfully, I didn’t really think much about it. In fact, I thought to myself “get your ass to the gym tomorrow, you heifer.”

Went to the Shelter, helped make some breakfast.

Got home, sat down in my office and started working.

Throughout the day, I kept looking down at my legs that resembled denim sausages and in between bites of whatever random food I was eating, kept thinking “jaysus, i’m fat.”

ALL DAY LONG, I sat in jeans that were making my waist weep.

Note: I don’t have a lot of jeans. I have about 5 pairs, of various washes, sizes, and whatever, and truthfully, I rarely wear them because I’m not really a jeans girl. Or maybe I just hate the way my ass looks in jeans. Whatever.

ANYWAYS… Flash forward to 7:10pm. I get off the phone with John, yet again, lamenting about the tight jeans and the special food I ate today (pb&j and ruffles for the win) and I decide it’s time to get comfy.

I peel (literally) peel off these jeans and look at the size. And I started laughing.

I shit you not, I’ve been wearing a pair of jeans that are at LEAST two sizes too small FOR 15 HOURS TODAY.

There happens to be a style of jean at old navy that I love. Not mom jeans, not hoochie jeans, and they typically fit me in the waist and are LONG. I have these magical jeans in about 3 sizes. In a sleep fog this morning, I pulled out the SMALLEST pair I own, and struggled into them.

In my defense, I do dry my jeans, so it’s not crazy that for the first hour they are more fitted than normal, but COME ON.

 

Who wears jeans that are 2 sizes too small all day long, while sitting at a desk?

 

I do.

#truestory

 

 

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