I am a girl and a mother of a girl teenager. So I know a thing or ten about mean girl behavior. In fact, I was the unfortunate recipient of nasty behavior as an adolescent to the point that my mother removed me from middle school until it was all straightened out. By the grace of God my teenage daughter has the nicest friends on planet earth. So while aware of the existence of back-stabbing, two-timing friends, I have been enjoying a season of reprieve. At least I thought I was. But recently I discovered that I’ve been blindsided by a friend who I considered loyal.
Who was the offender?
My yoga pants.
Let me explain …
I have been a mom for thirteen years. Add nine months prior to the birth of my first child and I have been wearing stretchy yoga-ish pants for the better part of fourteen years. That’s a lot of spandex.
One might think I have it pretty good in the comfortable wardrobe department. I wear yoga pants at home, scrubs at work, and one of three decent outfits I own any time I have to go to church or out in public. What’s the harm? Who doesn’t love a comfortable life?
I have championed my comfy yoga pants and thought they were the best thing in my life next to my family and Bible. But it turns out, they’re not a true friend. A true friend raises an eyebrow and tells you when its time to lay off the chocolate and hit the gym. Yoga pants snuggle up all comfy and cool … then stab you in the back. They secretly watch as you pile on the inches, all the while smirking at your waistline’s demise. And believe me, they are smirking right now.
And leggings? They are the jeering side-kick of Queen Yoga. Once upon a time you had to actually put on real pants or a skirt when you needed to get dressed up. But now you just throw on some leggings with long sweaters and cool boots and off you go. No need to face the music. You just cover up all your dietary indiscretions with a snazzy sweater. No harm, no foul.
Except when you realize that somewhere along the way you developed a situation on the scale. And those beloved bastions of stretch just beckon you back – and let you bring the ice cream, too.
Jeans on the other hand … they are as honest as it gets. Jeans tell it like it is. Too much bread? They’ll let you know in no uncertain terms that its time to don the fitbit and get moving. And their trusted partner, the skirt? She will point you right to the salad bar. These are the kind of friends I need in my life.
I don’t usually make New Year’s resolutions. I don’t pick a theme word for the year, either. Nope. You won’t see me make grandiose plans to get organized or lose weight or learn a new skill. But this year I think I have one.
I am going to wear real pants.
Every day. Ok fine, most days (lets not get crazy here). At least during daylight hours.
That’s my resolution.
P.S. In the interest of full disclosure I should mention that the only jeans I own are also stretchy. My husband calls them “yoga jeans.” So I am not sure if they count as real pants … but hey, it’s a start.