Picture This: April, 2011

Picture it: you buy a pair of pants a few years back.  The tag reads size whatever.  You don't try them on.  You take them home.  When you finally get around to it, you find that they must be mis-marked.  They barely fit over your hips, let alone your sizable gut.  You try laying flat on your back, a pair of needle nose pliers grasping the zipper tab.  It's no use.

You are too lazy to return them.  Every time you go on a starvation kick, you take them out. They join the others in the maybe-someday-they-will-fit pile.  Yeah, right.  Like most of the women you know, over forty anyway, you have three wardrobes--the fat clothes that you keep ending up wearing after each unsuccessful attempt at losing weight, stylish or not; the smaller size you keep buying because you will lose that weight someday, and the cheap stuff you buy because you need something that fits so you can wear it today.  You cut the size tags off as though they might betray you. A lesson here: Be good to yourself now.  I learned the hard way--it's the inside that matters, not the packaging.

Then one miraculous day in April, after months of sweating, dancing, walking, Pilates, giving up fast food and diet soda (but not chocolate); after months of working on struggling inside and out...you slip them off the hanger.  You might as well give them a try because nothing else fits.  They are too big, thankfully, or still in the someday-they-might-fit category. Besides, everything else is in the wash.

You step in, one leg at a time. So far, so good.  The real test is that little button, the one that makes the waistband lay flat. (You know the one. You never button it because it's too friggin' tight.) It works.  The zipper glides up.  The tabs close smoothly.  You did it standing up, no pliers in sight.  The hips fit, no sagging.  There is still room to tuck in your favorite red blouse, the one Hubby hates because he says you can see through it.  You can still breathe.  HALLELUJAH!! THEY FIT!!

They are plain black dress pants, similar to every other pair I have known.  They have pockets just big enough for my ever-present cell phone (want the number?), a tissue and a lip balm.  They are perfect.

I still have a long way to go, but the black pants are a good indicator of how far I have come.  They tell me I can get rid of the size whatevers (No, I am ashamed to admit what the size is. Sorry.) and wash up the "somedays".  I will be able to fit those in a few months.  I feel like I have accomplished something.

So today, I will put on the new black pants, my favorite red blouse and my most comfortable two-inch heels.  I will wear a pewter choker that covers my abominable neck, and big hoop earrings.  I will perch my reading glasses with the bling atop my glittering silver hair. My make-up will be flawless, my eyes bright.  My nails shine, my perfume is subtle. There are no smudges beneath my eyes, no mustache.  I will toss aside the pink fur coat and don a spring jacket; my car has an excellent heater.  Hubby will ask if I  really have to go to work.  Yes, dear, I do.  Just for today, I feel pretty and sexy and everything in between.

Remember that classmate who said I looked frumpy compared to high school?  The one who helped to create the monster I am today?  Today would be a good day to run into people like that.  I will check out the coffee shop this morning, and my favorite hide-outs later on.  I may have some pounds still to lose, but I have crossed something off my private bucket list.  I can no longer be called frumpy.

Dang, I look good.