So I was standing in my closet, getting dressed for the day.
I pulled on my favorite pair of jeans and noticed they were tight. Like too tight to button. And naturally I convinced myself that I couldn’t button them because they had just been washed. You know, cuz jeans totally shrink when you dry them. I mean, it couldn’t have *anything* to do with the amount of calories I took in last week versus how many I put out.
That would be ridiculous.
And involves some form of math and we all know I’m terrible at math. But I’m pretty sure the results would be astoundingly depressing.
Anyway, I finally managed to get them fastened, then proceeded to do the whole bend and stretch routine to loosen them up a bit.
And that’s when I blew out the whole crotch. In rock star fashion.
Behold. The jeans that used to not be ripped in the crotch.
Just then Ethan walked in right as I was bent over, observing the damage.
He shook his head and said, “You’re going to need a really big band-aid.”
Agitated with myself, I unbuttoned my jeans, kicked them off, and threw them across the closet. They landed in the corner with a sad little thud.
Ethan watched in awe as I threw a mini tantrum.
He looked at the jeans and then back at me. “What’s the matter, Mama?”
“I’ll tell you what’s wrong. I’m too fat for my clothes right now. I ate too much last week.”
He looked at my half naked body and said, “You’re not fat, Mommy.”
I managed a smile. I mean he *is* the most adorable little man on the planet. “Thanks for saying that, E. You really don’t think I’m fat?”
“Well, maybe just a little bit.”
And then he ran out of the closet.
For sale: One adorable little boy who *may* or *may not* fully grasp the art of lying flattery.
PS. I would never eat a sandwich that my dog made me because I know for sure that he eats his own shit. What, you really think I’d eat something a *dog* made? I bet you think I’d eat out of the trash can too, huh. Oh, wait.
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