Here we go again…

I am sixty-six years old and for about the ninety-seventh time in my life I am contemplating buying bigger pants. Yup – I’ve outgrown my jeans yet again; my waistband overfloweth, my ample posterior has been amplified; my pants will stretcheth no further.

I’ve been left to my own devices for months and that has never been a good idea.  I am my own worst enemy, I’m untrustworthy.  I must have left all my resolutions, my life’s lessons, my pearls of wisdom, at my old house. I’ve let my weight get away on me again.  The truth is nobody else really gives a rat’s ass if I can fit mine into my jeans anymore anyway so it was easy to let things slip.

Right now the problem with not being able to fit my ass into my pants is monetary –  it’s not just the jeans that are tight – I’ve become penny wise.  Buying bigger pants isn’t an option I want to entertain, especially when I have a cupboard full of descent, albeit uncomfortable, jeans.  Buying bigger pants is a slippery slope, chances are more than pretty good I would out grow them in no time flat.  And then what?  Even bigger pants, that’s what. And so it would go.

I’ve become something of a broken record – every few months I sing the same old tune.  I make plans, chart a course and get a few days under my belt before temptation wins and I reach for that which I’m trying to avoid.  I’m paying for a weight watchers subscription that for weeks has only logged good intentions.  The bathroom scale has been trumped by the refrigerator.  I’m on an eating bender.  Something’s got to give; the pants, the wallet or my attitude.

If I could just get on a roll again If I could just make a promise to myself and keep it. If I could just reach for an apple and not a cookie. If I could just take the bull by the horns and just do it.  If… It’s time to tackle the ‘if’ .  If not now,  when? (After the weekend, maybe.  Or possibly after next Tuesday.  For sure before Christmas.)