Thursday, April 12, 2007

Lament of the AGED

Okay, so today, when I got dressed to go to work, I put on a pair of jeans that I found in my closet and don't really remember buying, but that is not unusal. They are nice, DKNY, size 8L, and fit pretty damned well. Except: they are so freakin' low cut that I can't figure out what the hell to do with that pouch that sits in the middle, it's small, but it's THERE, and where the hell does it GO? It's not so bad standing up, the profile is flat, and I have no hangover on the sides, but holy jumped up Jessie, when I sit down, what the hell do I do with this thing? I can't suck it all the way in----heaven knows I've tried! I suppose the answer lies once again with my age, and where the hell did I get these damned jeans anyway? I refuse to start wearing elastic waist pants, you know the knit-stretchy kind, that grandmas wear, and frankly, other than that, this is your choice! On with the aerobics, knock off the beer, oh heavens, I can't do that------the problems of an aging woman, one day it's the middle-pouch, the next it's the grey hair, the next it's the crows feet...damn. Makes you want to INCREASE the beer intake, which only worsens the original problem, which means I am destined for elastic waist pants..... Out.

3 comments:

Sandra said...

I call that my 'muffin top' and yeah...where can it go.

Dr. Sparky said...

From what I have seen on television and tabloids, you must embrace the pouch and show it proudly.

Amanda said...

I hear you. It's even worst when you live among the best breweries of the friggin world. I walk a lot, but that only get a girl so far... :)