Pant-ing by Numbers

Women tend to form irrational emotional bonds to numbers. No, I'm not talking about algebra or astrophysics...I'm talking about those pesky labels that clothing manufacturers so arbitrarily sew into the backs of our pants.

I still remember that terrible, awkward time when my youthful metabolism was starting to grind to a butt-expanding halt. The numbers on those little labels started to creep up towards double digits, causing undue emotional pain and distress when I finally could not stuff myself into the size that had been perfect for me through my long, care-free, cellulite-free adolescent days.

I went through a period of denial, like alot of women. I tried to hold on to that number, by God, I tried. To the point where containing all my bits within the confines of that size of pants was more important that life-giving things like circulation and breathing - oh, and comfort.

But somewhere along the line, I finally came to terms with something. I pulled the next size up off the rack, slapped it on, and stared fixedly at my butt in the dressing room mirror. Wow - my ass looked gooood. And I could breathe...and move freely! If need be, I could even vanquish my enemies with a kung-fu kick to the head. Revelation!

No more pant-ing by the
numbers. The numbers are meaningless. The true meaning lies in the fact that the slacks you've got on do wonders for your figure, skim effortless down your butt and thighs, and leave you feeling great about yourself and ready to bust out some serious karate moves!


Let go of your idealized size and find pants that fit and flatter,
pants that make you look and feel great! 'Nuff said.


This woman needs to let go of the numbers,
and look for pants that fit!