In my case, the laundry-day outfit usually isn't too crazy. I have a ton of old tee-shirts from high school and college - for plays I've been in, concerts I went to, the sorority I was in for about a week, etc. - but the lower half is slightly more difficult to clothe. My thighs have this awesome power to eventually shred the inner thighs of every single pair of jeans I've ever owned. I've got about four pairs of these sad sacks - they're actually starting to look more like chaps than jeans, except the ass isn't worn off (yet) - in my dresser, dreaming of the day when I will be handy enough with needle and thread to fix them up. For now, I mostly just wear them anyways and keep my knees together.
Today, however, I'm going to my chiropractor. Something tells me he wouldn't be amused if he got me all twisted up, trying to snap whichever part of my body defies me today into place, and suddenly my pants decided to finally give out all together. Well, at least I hope "amusement" wouldn't be on the list of emotions.
But anyways. I reached for a pair of pants that are still somehow intact, but which I almost never wear anymore, because they fit so oddly. They're trouser pants in this really thin, kinda stretchy pinstripe material, and they're almost tight on my quads but really loose everywhere else. As in, I don't have to unzip or unbutton them to put them on. So they just look weird. But they cover the naughty bits, so they'll have to do.
So I wandered down to the kitchen, grabbed a frying pan and started chatting with Amam as it heated up. I looked down at my pants. "You know," I said, "these pants used to be my skin-tight go-clubbing-in pants." No really, it's true! I can't even picture how that worked now, but I used to only be able to button them without discomfort on a "skinny" day.
She nodded. "You've made a lot of strides!"
I smiled a self-satisfactory little smile, confident in the fact that damn, that is true. I gloated for a moment, but only in the cute way. And then I thought...