Breaking Up With Leggings
Dearest, most comfiest, leggings… we need to have a talk.
For the past year or so we have had a really good thing going. When I don’t want to do anything besides lay around and binge watch my favorite TV shows on Netflix – you are there for me. You let me feel as though I am walking around the house without any pants on, which as we both know, is my favorite thing to do. When I don’t feel like getting dressed before making my 87th Target run for the day – you are there for me. You match perfectly with my grey sweatshirt and flip flops [and spit up & who knows what else from my kids, too]. Not to mention you also go great with my no make-up or shower-in-days-face, too. When I feel like getting dressed up, on the same two days a year [my birthday & wedding anniversary] – you are there for me. You let me look half way decent in my one and only dress that I own and give me confidence to actually do my make up and hair twice a year. You are there for me when I just want to drink my coffee slowly & enjoy the rare 4 minutes of silence. You are there for me when I need to be on my A game and rock it. You are there for me when I am chasing down a toddler and rocking my baby to sleep. You are there for me when I really don’t want to be wearing pants but it’s not socially acceptable to walk around in my underwear. You match perfectly with my Uggs, my flats, and even my flip flops. You are so incredibly versatile and ridiculously comfy. So. Damn. Comfy.
But here is the thing, dearest leggings. It’s not you. It’s me. I need to break up with you.
This is by far the hardest break up that I have ever had to do. You see, you are an enabler. A big time enabler. You have enabled me to live in this false reality where cupcake calories don’t count & I can have all of the peanut butter m&m’s that I would like without gaining a single pound. While it has been so nice to wear you pretty much every day for the last year, you have been enabling me to keep living in this false reality. You enable my waistline to grow without me even realizing it. As much as I love you, I need to let you go.
The other night I was at Target desperately searching for a pair of regular, non-maternity, jeans and I probably tried on about 15 pairs. Either not a single one of those jeans looked nice or I wasn’t even able to pull them up all of the way. And I am way too stubborn to go up a size [or two or three who really knows], so I just brought all of them back out to the fitting room attendant and headed straight to the active wear. It is out of control, leggings. It is time for some tough love.
We need to set some boundaries. From now on, you will remain in my closet next to my work out clothes and sports bras. I hope that as soon as I can get myself back together that we can be friends. I’d like to continue wearing you, but I can’t wear you every single day. Otherwise I will drown myself into a cupcake oblivion. I need to have some regular pants in my life, too. I hope you understand. Please give me a few months, or more, to work on myself before we try to be friends again. I’ll miss you, dear leggings. Why do you have to be so damn comfy?