In honor of my favorite eating day ever, I thought I’d reblog this post. Stay tuned for an all new Thanksgiving-I’m-fat-so-fuck-it post!
Believe it or not, I’m new to the marvel that is fat pants. Of course, I’ve always participated in the “fat pants” life, but God forbid I give my holey flannel pants, that I’ve had since middle school, a name that explains why the elastic has been stretched out for 5 years, but they stay on, because the band fits snugly between two fat rolls. God forbid.
I can’t wait to get into my elastic waistbands everyday. Erryday. I can hardly wait to get inside the privacy of my own home before I start disrobing. My pants are unbuttoned and the bra strap has been unhooked before I even park my car. As I make my way up to the door, I’m removing said bra under my shirt. It’s a fucking art form, getting prepared for fat-pants-time. If you don’t know, you’re not doing it right.
People who lounge in jeans and say they are comfortable are straight up liars or completely delusional. Ain’t no one comfortable in denim. No one. Put on some damn sweatpants like the rest of us-your jeans-lounging is making my fat hurt.
Now, when I said before that I am new to fat pants, it’s essentially true when it comes to the holidays. Just recently I’ve discovered that you don’t have to bust the buttons off your pants after Thanksgiving dinner, because you can wear fucking sweats to dinner.
Who am I trying to impress with my sausage casing tights and LBD, anyway? No one in my family gives one crap what anyone is wearing. All we are concerned with is, “Where dat gravy at?” I mean, really.
I have spent far too many years being positively miserable after a smorgasbord of regret to even comprehend.
No more skinny jeans that leave impressions, from the band and seams, in my skin for a week.
No more dresses that require sucking it in, because after dinner it’s physically impossible to suck in an 8 pound food baby.
No more fashion tights, because the band always gives way, rolls down my stomach, and doesn’t stop until it’s obvious “One Size Fits All” is a damn, filthy lie.
Tomorrow I am doing Thanksgiving the Fat Girl way, the Champion Eater way. I’m going to dinner like I mean business.
Sweatpants=no pain, all gain.
Thanksgiving is the one day that it’s OK to eat your weight in food. I want to enjoy it, dammit.