Today the weather was sunny and almost seasonal. I decided to celebrate by going out and taking birb pictures. But before going out, I contemplated wearing shorts. I ended up wearing my comfy covid sweatpants (to be fair, I got them pre-pandemic). But while I contemplated, I pulled out a nice pair of casual shorts, the kind I wore in summers of yore, size 31 waist. I pulled them on. I zipped up the zipper. I did the button up at the top of the zipper. As you can see, I remembered perfectly how to put on shorts.
There was one small problem, though. Or rather a big problem. A big FAT problem.
My waist.
My waist is currently not size 31. I daresay it is not 32 or maybe even 33, either. I think it may be back to my pre-2008 size of 34. Technically I could wear the shorts, but in this case technically is not the best kind of correct, because I was being squeezed to death by clothing. The only way wearing those shorts would have been practical in any way would have been through spontaneous and magical liposuction.
So I wore the sweatpants.
My weight is currently at a bit of a plateau at the moment, but it should start coming down again through the remainder of the month. Will it be enough to let me revisit the bygone days of being under 170 pounds before we (jelly) roll into June? Perhaps. I’d like to think that by then I could wear those size 31 shorts without having to give up breathing, but I know that is unlikely. So that is my goal, my north star–to be able to wear my size 31 shorts before the weather becomes inhospitable to exposing my legs to the elements.
Excelsior!
