Getting Fatter….One Pair of Leggings at a Time

Have you ever noticed how fat chicks nearly always wear leggings? The polyester/ Lycra stretching till it’s almost see through over the rolls of fat, the fabric piling between their thunder thighs, and the lines of their underwear clearly visible through the stretched-to-the-point-of-ripping arse of the pants! Sure, they wear long sweaters or shirts in an effort to conceal as much of their ginormous spare tire that wraps itself around their midsection, but the effects of the leggings clinging to them get cannot possibly be completely hidden! 

I, my friend, am one of those fat chicks! 

I didn’t always wear leggings. I began wearing them when I began gaining weight. Why? Well, why else! Nothing in my closet fit anymore! So I turned to the simplest, cheapest, and stretchiest pants I could find- leggings. They became my new best friend. They never judged, they contorted to my newly expanding shape, they protected my thighs from the inevitable chub rub, and they went with anything. That is, they would have, had I had anything that still fit! 

Everyday I wear a different pair of black leggings. I wear them shopping, to take my kids to school, to work- I wear them everywhere. I’m convinced that anyone who sees me thinks I am wearing the same pair of pants everyday but in reality my closet is filled with several pairs of black leggings, some different from the others, but all the same basic shade of black. Because black is slimming right? 

I have loved my leggings unconditionally until recently when, alas, I came to the realization that my loyal and beloved leggings had been betraying me all along. Every time that I forced my cankles and giant calves, followed by my thunder thighs and lower spare tire into the stretchy fabric they were not protecting me or being my best friend. Oh no! 

I was getting FATTER, one pair of leggings at a time!

Everyday my leggings were making me so comfortable I hadn’t even notice the pounds continuing to pile on. They hid them from me, each and every pound. They stretched to perfection as my thighs and calves  got a little bigger. They allowed my fat arse to sit perfectly in them while enveloping my bulging belly. Each pair had warped themselves to fit my expanding form to perfection. 

My leggings weren’t in complete fault. I have an addiction to food. But although food is my addiction, my leggings are my enablers. They allow me to eat whatever the hell I want. They allow me to gain without notice. Unlike my retired, well worn jeans, they have never warned me that I was starting to outgrow them. Unlike my sexy slim fitting skinny pants, their zippers don’t dig into my side to let me know they had reached their limit. Even my favourite high heel shoes had painfully made me aware that I was getting heavier. But no, not my faithful black leggings. 

My leggings and I have come to a standstill in our relationship. Like all unhealthy and dysfunctional relationships I know I need to walk away. As much as I love them, how comfortable they are and how secure they make me feel, I know they are completely wrong for me. So I will do what has to be done. I will say goodbye to my best friends, my forgiving and loving leggings. There’s just one problem I need to deal with first……

I still don’t have anything else that fits!