The case of the traveling "fat" pants!

Well, it's official now.  I have eaten myself right out of my, "I've been on a diet and lost five pounds" pants and into my, "I've gone over the edge and lost all control-fat pants."  And, I kid you not. Pants that I could easily slip into two weeks ago (now I am not saying I didn't have to lie on the bed to zip, but still) are now facing serious fabric jeopardy.

It happened quickly too.  I was so busy walking around all dumb and happy, I had no idea what was coming. Oh, there were little signs. I guess if you wanna call them signs. Like walking around New Orleans at 10:00 in the morning drinking frozen daiquiri's topped with 151 rum. And then there were those fried oyster po-boy's... I made it my personal mission to order one at every restaurant, just in case one was better than the other.  And, Oh, did I mention the craw fish pies, please, they were to die for.  So, yeah, I guess if you wanna get technical, a smarter,  and perhaps more sober person would have seen what was coming.  But I never did. Fat and happy,  yep, that was me.

That was until two days into this plethora of debauchery I went to pull on my black pin striped pants. They look really cute with this cardigan I have, but let me tell you, not so great with my traveling "fat" pants.  Which, if the truth were known and wait... I'm going to reveal to you the truth... My traveling "fat" pants are actually part of my "sleep-to street" attire I am so fond of.  My, "hello lover" black yoga stretch pants that I match with my beloved hooded zippies.  Yeah, those. And if that visual is too much for you. Stop. Reading. Right. Now.  After all, this is my story.
Thank God, I thought to pack several pairs of these babies, because when the shit started hitting the fan, well not exactly hitting the fan, but shortly after a visit to the local drugstore and a purchase of 5000 extra strength fiber pills it was a different story, but anyhow I was well prepared.

Back to the pants.  There I was, all happy, (evidently,  fat, dumb and happy was getting to be my thing) getting ready to go for a yummy dinner, enjoying a pre-dinner cocktail while I was busy beautifying and BAMM (yes, we visited Emeril's the night before). I was faced with a big problem.  I could wear the pin-striped pants, but be relegated to stand all night, because if I sat down it was quite likely the zipper would explode. Oh My!

I knew immediately that this was not a simple case of hoisting myself into a sixty buck pair of Spanx. The distance between my left and right hand while tugging upward may as well of been the "great divide".  Nope, this was calling for the heavy artillery, roll out the boom-DE-boom. It was another perfect opportunity for the good old "fat" pants (once again) to come to the rescue. I glided into those babies and they greeted me like an old friend. I cried out, "Well, hello lover" and never looked back. Man, it felt fabulous! No longer confined to a predetermined waist circumference I was ready to go back out there and greet New Orleans with a renewed gusto, after all I only had one more night left in the Crescent City, how much more damage could I do?