Chubby Jeans

29 Aug

Yesterday I bought jeans to “grow into.” This encompasses one of the best and worst things about being engaged. On the one side is my complete security. The other? I’m actively giving up on the hope that I’ll fit into the jeans I purchased before I was betrothed. I think most of us grow when a diamond is placed on our ring fingers. Some call it “happy weight,” others refer to it as the “honeymooning phase” when you’re finally comfortable enough with your someone to give up on being demure and begin competitive gorging. I think our bodies go into hibernation during the period immediately after getting bejeweled and before setting a wedding date. Physiologically, they know that they’ll be starved within two inches of their lives once the Save the Date is mailed so they begin to protect themselves. I started carbo-loading weeks after I met my fiancé, probably around the time I threw up on him and saw that he was totally cool with it. Six years later, I am now the proud owner of my first pair of pre-mediated “fat jeans,”  because why shouldn’t I feel as loose as I am in my relationship? It should be noted that my cohort, coached by an impossibly hip homosexual, purchased his inaugural pair of skinny jeans that day. I guess he’s having his “bridal moment.”

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