The Fat Pant Intervention

I haven’t written about this because it’s one of those events that are not even slightly humorous in the moment. I have gained 20lbs or so since January.

To set the scene: We are at the very end of a long day, of which we have spent at least 5 of the last 4 hours together. I am in my work clothes.

H: Babe, you don’t look comfortable. I think you need to buy new pants this weekend. I am just concerned about your comfort.

Me: (Rage and humiliation swirling in my head and heart, but trying to keep cool because I have foolishly asked for his honesty if ever an intervention such as this was needed) I am not very comfortable, does it look like I am smuggling Christmas hams in my pants?

H: Mmmm…. (biding time because he is afraid to answer)

Me: (losing it) OH MY GOSH. HOW BAD DO I LOOK? AND HOW LONG HAVE A LOOKED THIS RIDICULOUS AND YOU DIDN’T TELL ME. HOW LONG!!!

H: You don’t look bad, you just don’t look very professional. I don’t really want men to see you.

Me: What the hell!

Me: (Calming down, again recalling that at some crazed point I thought marital honesty about my body was a good thing) So are you saying I look like a mall worker?

H: Yes

End scene.

Epilogue: I bought new big girl pants. Was very upset about it at first. Have now discovered that buying new, looser fitting clothing is almost as good as losing weight. I am indeed more comfortable now. And I am still married.