Lose Weight = Loose Tights

The above equation occurred to me today as I tried to discreetly yank my tights back up.

This morning I put on a pair of tights that I haven’t worn in over a year. A person really doesn’t think about whether their tights fit or not. No one ever put on tights, looked in the mirror, and said: Wow, these tights fit great!

It wasn’t until I was at work that I realized my tights were no longer tight- they were loose. Really loose. Like sweat pants loose. And loose tights do not stay where you put them. The crotch of my tights was nowhere near where I meant it to be. And there was no way I could move gracefully with the crotch of my tights half-way to my knees. And there was no way to pull my tights back up without the entire lobby, the guys watching the security camera, and a hallway of co-workers seeing what I was doing. This was one very long day.

After pulling those tights back up all day you better believe they went in the trash when I got home. I embarrass myself enough already without being sabotaged by loose tights.

Over-packed and Underprepared

I used to be one of those people who could pack for a week at the beach using an overnight bag. I would pack maybe 2 outfits and 10 pairs of panties. Seriously, I figured as long as I had enough underwear to get me through, it didn’t matter if anyone saw me in the same outfit more than once. My thinking was: I am a tourist; I don’t know these people and will probably never see them again.

Believe it or not, Mister was the over-packer at our house. When we left for the weekend that man had clothes for any possible occasion along with him. We once went to a casual wedding in Florida and one of the ushers was unable to make the wedding, Mister said “Let me go to the car and change.” Another time we were on boat deep sea fishing and he rooted around in his bag and pulled out the Yellow Page Directory to look up a phone number. I can’t tell how many times he loaned me a coat or t-shirt when we are away from home.

In the beginning I would tease him about over-packing. I said if you leave home with a change of panties you are travelling. He would just laugh and say that it felt good to have his stuff with him when he was away from home.

Then I started asked him to put a pair of my shoes in his bag. That was the beginning of my over-packing. Before I knew it I needed one of those suitcases with wheels. We leave for 2 days and I need 3 outfits, 2 pair of shoes, accessories, and 3 pair of panties. I still say you need fresh panties every day.

I have now embraced over-packing.

We recently went out of town for a long weekend. I had my wheeled suitcase so filled I could barely zip it. Along with all of my clothes I also brought along a couple of outfits for my Chihuahua (you know, so we wouldn’t clash).

Imagine my horror the first evening when I opened my suitcase and realized I had packed NO UNDERWEAR!! I had 6 different outfits with me and not one change of panties. All of those clothes and I was washing my smalls in the sink each evening. Just because you over-pack doesn't mean you are travelling.

Snowed In 2011

Saturday: Snow is announced for Georgia. The news is teasing us with forecasts of 4 to 6 inches of snow. I don’t know who they think they are kidding, telling us to stock up on groceries, water, and firewood. I am not going to be one of those crazy women at Wal-Mart throwing milk and bread into my cart because we may be housebound for half a day.

Sunday AM: The meteorologists actually sound serious about the snow. Maybe I will cook a little something in case the power goes out tomorrow. It will be nice to have something good to eat while we sit around enjoying a day off work.

Sunday PM: I have a vat of potato soup cooking, a pork roast in the crock pot, one cake, a pan of cornbread, a pan of biscuits, and a quiche ready. Mister comes home and says he can’t find firewood anywhere and maybe we should go get some groceries that can be cooked on a camp-stove if we lose power. At Food Depot we find bare shelves and go home with the last 2 cans of spaghettios. You can’t get any Little Debbie’s for love or money.

Monday: This is great!! Six inches of snow and we still have electricity! This is the kind of snowstorm people talk of for decades, the most snow Georgia has received in the history of measuring snow. The view is breathtaking.

Mister and I sleep late, eat well, play Yahtzee, and wear our jammies all day. We put on our boots and walk out to the road to discover there is a sheet of ice covering the snow. There has been no traffic outside our house. We are truly snowed in.

Tuesday: Mister and I awake to the sound of spinning tires and sliding cars. It turns out that some people can’t take more than one day off from work and are trying to get out of the neighborhood. The key word is trying- they aren’t going anywhere. I wonder what makes a person who sees 6 cars in the ditch or sitting sideways in the road think they will be the one to make it through. The newscasters are saying that the roads are not passable and recommending people stay home.

We walk for miles through the snow. Everything looks foreign blanketed in white. We come home to potato soup and watch a movie. Being snowed in is like being on vacation.

Wednesday: Mister’s work calls to find out if he is coming in today. He tells them that we are still snowed in, that we are 65 miles west of Atlanta and there are no snow plows or sand trucks coming by our house.

The ice that covers the snow is really hard and slick. We pretend to ice-skate in the backyard and even our Manchester terrier, Boo, has learned to slide across the ice. Hot buttered rum is a cozy drink when we come in from the snow.

Thursday: Snowed in on my birthday. This has been the best birthday, snowed in together all week. No responsibilities and no guilt.

Honestly though, we are starting to get cabin fever. Mister goes out to try to get the car out and spends hours chipping away at the ice. We are going to be on a meat only diet before long. The only one who doesn’t seem to have claustrophobia is our Chihuahua, Nadine- she goes to the door, looks out, and turns around to reclaim her spot on the sofa.

We spend the evening drinking Crown and Coke and watching Smokey and the Bandit. Snowed in with the Snowman.

Friday: Mister makes it out of the driveway around 10AM. He calls to tell me that the roads clear up about 2 miles from our house but that I shouldn’t leave as the driving is treacherous around our home. I am SO ready to get out of this house, but I don’t know how to drive on ice and can’t afford to replace the car if I wreck it.

Around noon there is a news helicopter hovering over our house. I go out to see what is going on (cause I’m nosy that way). A firetruck has sliden off the hill and has the road blocked. The maintenance department shows up with gravel and sand and throws it out on the ice. A giant tow truck comes to help the firetruck.

I call Mister and tell him of the excitement outside. He tells me not to leave the house, that if I want anything from the store he will bring it home. I say “Sure, hog all the fun of going to the store.” He laughs and says “Pack a day bag. We are going somewhere warm tomorrow.”

Saturday and South Georgia. Spanish moss and sago palms. Walking down sandy dirt roads with Mister and the dogs I realize I am not made for snow.