In the past month or so, my body has decided that it would very much like to return to how it was when I was in high school. I'm okay with that, to an extent. I'm okay with losing a little bit of weight (especially if it's because I'm not eating pure and utter junk and/or because I'm actually exercising), but I don't want to lose all of my curves.
I'm built a lot like my dad (tallish, with long limbs and a sometimes ghetto booty), so my curves tend to be somewhat limited...not that I'm really complaining. What I do mind, however, is the waistband gap. You know what I'm talking about if you have anything even remotely beyond a flat butt. And you know that it ain't pretty. My body, as it did in high school, is taking to not fitting well in pants. This would explain why, for my entire Sophomore year of high school, I wore one of the two hideous uniform skirts instead of comfy Dockers. The legs usually fit, and the butt usually looks okay, but at the waist, the pants just gape and look as though they are threatening to fall off. The same thing happens with skirts, but I can pull skirts down to fit at my hips...with pants that's not as easy.
I am probably one of the few people who really-really likes low-rise jeans (not the scary, coin slot ones, but the tasteful ones), because for the first time in a lot of years, jeans actually fit. And with the addition of long t-shirts to the realm of women's fashion, for a short breadth of time, I had a wardrobe that didn't show my belly unless I wanted it to. Now, even my low-rise jeans are rebelling, the long-ish t-shirts are shrinking in the wash and I'm back to being an awkward teen with ill-fitting pants. Luckily, skirts and dresses worn with tights are staying in style for the fall and winter, so at least I won't have to freeze my toosh off in a plaid skirt and ankle socks like I did in high school. Because, really, I don't want my toosh to go anywhere.
p.s. The Intellectual did call (on Saturday...the same day as my impatience e-mail). We're going out again tonight...this time to an actual restaurant.
p.p.s. The Intellectual is not the one whom I called by the wrong name in an e-mail...that's The Nurse, and he and I have now talked a few times on the phone, but he hasn't asked me out.