Monday, January 25, 2010
The joy of loose, or at least looser, jeans
I finally located some roomier jeans. Thank God. What with my ill- fitting bras, is there such a thing as a comfortable bra? and all my clingy, unforgiving waist bands, why did I get rid of all those stretch jeans, I was vying for the Miss Irritable USA, or is it World, title. Too tight waistbands could start wars if enough women were subjected to them on the same day.
Admitting you need to go a size up in pants, at age 44, is kind of like adapting to a new country. You've got to be flexible. And to think I had imagined France, by osmosis, would render me chicly svelte. I didn't take the cost of all that emotional eating (did you know chocolate is an anti-depressant?) and wine drinking, into consideration.
There's also that little problem of no snow to slide around on. My primary forms of exercise in winter were cross country skiing, which I could do by stepping out the door at my house in Vermont, and ice hockey, which I played twice, sometimes three times, per week.
My turning my back on France simply because she has temporarily lost some of her physical beauty reminds me of the kind of men, I don't know any personally but have heard about them, who take issue with their wives for losing their figure when pregnant.
How shallow am I?
After all, none of this is France's fault. She made me no promises. She did not ask me to impregnate her with all my vain hopes and fantasies of escape into a better, more beautiful, more art -filled, better- coffee-filled, thinner, blonder, world where simply riding my bike down the street, carrying that fresh baguette under my arm, breathing in the air, and perhaps wearing some funky, decidedly- Euro shoes, would render me forever complacent.
I simply expected too much from her. Nothing less than transformation: The chance to be someone else, the bragging rights of a third language -- I can brag of temporarily bi-lingual children- and a swishy- sounding address. A somehow more meaningful existence.
But a country, or a city, or a town, or a house, no single place can provide this for anyone. Because, in the words of Buckaroo Banzai- "Wherever you go, there you are."
And, yup, last time I checked, I'm still here.
Related BabyCenter post over here.