Friday, December 27, 2013

Farewell to Legs

I'm constantly reinventing myself, which is why therapy is such a treat. The therapist asks me what kind of person I think I am, and I just sort of drool in response. I have no clue who I am. But that's neither here nor there--one day, several months ago, at anywhere between 2:00-4:00 AM (when I'm at my finest), I decided I was going to stop wearing skirts to church. So I got online and ordered four pairs of dress pants for a fairly reasonable price, considering.

Fast forward to yesterday morning when I planned to make a rare appearance at church (which, by the way, was cancelled, unbeknownst to me): I'm stumbling around in faint light, trying not to wake my husband (no success there either), and trying on said pants which have been languishing because I go to church so rarely. All four pairs didn't fit in diverse ways, and all were too stinking long for my stumpy legs. So now I'm fumbling around for a maxi skirt and making a bold decision:


Fear not, the pants will go to a thrift store where they will find new life not fitting someone else. I'll also keep my pair of ill-fitting jeans around for when I finally get around to painting the living room. But in the meantime, it'll be skirts and dresses. I even sleep in maxi skirts. Maybe I should get some pajamas, huh?

I feel overly formal in skirts, but that's the result of a lifetime of tomboyishness. For Jones Family Christmas this weekend, I'll be sporting the popular combination of black leggings and a below-the-knee black skirt. That seems less formal in my mind. But I do love to wear skirts: When we stand to pray, I tend to sway slightly so I feel the sensation of the fabric hitting the fronts of my shins and then the backs. I also found a blob of beeswax on the skirt I'm wearing now--if that's not an Orthodox skirt, I don't know what is!

This isn't really a post about the importance of femininity: Far from it. Yesterday's post on veiling was much more interesting. Mostly it's a gripe about how hard it is to find a pair of pants that fit, especially when you're fat. And perhaps it's about how I love to punish myself by reinventing. I used to not take any steps without some philosophical reason behind what I was doing, but being a grown-up (and 30 instead of 20 or 15) means that you just sometimes have to make practical decisions. In this case, the practical decision is to deal with one thing (waist size) instead of a billion (waist size, hip size, inseam, pockets or no, leg fit ... the list goes on).

Plus, my mom will be happy that I won't be lounging in sweatpants all day anymore.