The Battle with My BackFat Continues...

Well, not so much my backfat.

It's just a general fatness problem.

Now. Before I continue, I have to say this.

I'm not actually that fat.

However, having gained several pounds several times over the last few years, I have become more self conscious about my figure. It's more... jiggly these days. And it drives me berserk.

I had to go to a wake today. So, I needed something halfway decent to wear. I was thinking that perhaps WalMart jeans and a Suzy Shier top weren't going to cut it. So I hauled my Rhinestone Cowboy pants out of my closet before leaving the big city and figured that, come Hell or high water (Perhaps even both) my newly gigantic ass would be going into them.

My newly gigantic ass did go into them this morning. However, once I was dressed and involved in the long and aruous process of applying makeup I had to bend over and pick something up.

At which time I felt that oh-so-familiar popping sensation that would inform me of the fact that the button on my pants had flown from its location at my waist.

And was now dangling in front of my zipper like an old fly strip.

Only without the dead flies stuck to it.

Imagine driving down the dirt roads of CowTown with a needle and thread trying to get pants sewn back together in time for the wake.

Kill me now.

I managed to succeed without piercing myself a new belly button.

I got to town with SuperNan, got out of the SuperVue, and the other button left it's home at my waist.

So then I was sitting in a parking lot, rather than driving down a dirt road, sewing my pants back together for the second time that day. It was an all-time new low, even for me.

At this point I happened to notice a discount store advertising incredibly low prices on everything.

And I went in and found some pants that would manage to wrap their way around my enormous ass without worry of pieces of them becoming projectiles.

So, into the dressing room I went.

Now, I realize that buying pants in a size twelve is not the end of the world. I realize that there is no need to shed tears over a thirty two inch waisted pair of jeans.

But I still feel incredibly depressed at the thought. I used to have a great body. A bathing suit body. One of those bodies that people would look at and think "Huh. Not bad."

So, I went to the wake in my hastily sewn together Rhinestone Cowboy pants and upon getting back to where we started at, I removed the Rhinestone pants and put on some new jeans.

SuperNan and I had to hit up the grocery store. I was wearing my new jeans.

And as I wandered around the grocery store I realized that the odd sensation coming over my ass was not the result of sitting on it in the car for hours on end.

It was the result of my stupid new jeans falling off my fat butt and hanging around the bottom of my fat butt as though I was some sort of Wannabe White Chick Gangsta.

And of course, it was at this time that I realized that me? Buying pants? Under stress? When I was pissed off about my other pants falling apart (quite literally) at the seams? Is not a good time to be shopping.

The jeans are washing and drying on the hot setting as we speak in an attempt to make them not fall off me any more.

But, Hell, it's a small thing to take comfort in and for now? I need all the comfort I can get.

Toonses