Throwing A Fit

As if my post smoking weight gain isn't enough to defeat my feelings of general superiority, yet another indignity confronts me while I pull on my pants.

Not much fits without straining at the seams lately. It seems that a mere 10, 12 or 20 pounds really do make a difference.

I choose my navy Nautica khakis. They're cut a little bigger which interestingly makes me feel a little less elephantine. They move. They breathe. And as I pull them up, it's gonna be a sunshine day after all!

I glance down as they come up and a little tag on the inside of the waist band commands my attention. Never noticed that before. What does it say in the tiny print? Squinting: 'Relax Fit'.

Not relaxed fit but Relax Fit. It's not like there wasn't room for the whole huge word 'Relaxed' on that tag. My pants are now taunting me:

Relax!Fit? No, you're fat.
Relax fatso, these'll fit. Relax!

I finish hoisting them up, fasten all the pullies and trusses around me to keep them in place. I hold my breath and make a plan.

Walk, that's what I'll do! I'm gonna walk and I'm not gonna stop until it's all gone. If it takes days, I'm gonna...Hey! What's this? A package of homemade fudge sent by mail from good old Mom? I almost forgive you for everything!!

After I eat this one little pound and a half of fudge, it's walking for me and nothing but! I'm just gonna...Relax.