I was never cut out for the convent.
I matured very early.
The boobs, while not ideal for God’s work, were perfect for getting me teased through junior high and felt up in high school.
But, they came with a price.
A foundation made of huge thighs.
I have been called thunder thighs exactly two times, once in my bathing suit at the quarry while on a group date in junior high by a boy with acne and a lisp while I ate a hot dog by the line of cute guys jumping off the high dive. The second time was on spring break my sophomore year of college, when I wouldn’t let a bus boy at a bar in Cancun smell my hair.
That night was equal parts weird and damaging to my self esteem.
But, it actually worked out for the best, because he went back to the room that night with my roommate’s snobby cousin, Renee. Renee ate lettuce at every meal and told me it was a good thing I had such an attractive face. When she woke up the next morning, he had stolen her wallet, her clothes, and she was pregnant.
Sigh, I wonder if those two crazy kids ever got married?
Anyways, I learned hard and fast that some fashion just didn’t work with my body type.
Boho Chic? YAY!
Booty shorts, mini skirts, rompers, anything sort of material that in any way shows or clings to my upper thighs? BOO!
Alright, fine, I’ll spend my summers sweating my balls off in my flared jeans and flowy long skirts, and countdown the days until fall.
Except then I had kids, and realized I could go days without leaving the house or showering, and the next thing you know, I buy some leggings, because that’s what the stay at home moms on TV wear. I fell in love with them.
Only now, I am starting to leave the house in them, and that safety barrier that should be there, like the friend that looks at you in that halter top you are trying to wear without a bra and says, oh honey, nooooooo, isn’t there, because Andy doesn’t know anything about fashion.
He just keeps on trying to kiss all over me and get me to sleep with him, and it’s like, I’ll never learn my lesson, Andy.
Stop being an enabler!
And, like any good gateway drug, they’ve made me curious.
Denim leggins? Jeggings? Oh sure, on the outside I’m all, those are preposterous! But, on the inside, I’m like, get on my body.
I want to wear them with tall brown boots and an oversized sweater, and spend a chilly morning picking out fresh french bread at the farmers market while I sip coffee from my earth friendly thermos made from all the recycled plastic bottles that were otherwise murdering dolphins and polar bears.
Except it’s the middle of winter.
I don’t like coffee or recycling.
And, my thighs are huge.
But, at 3am…things feel less wrong.
I know they are wrong, and they probably look horrific, but they feel positively amazing.
All tight and suctiony on all the parts of me that need suctioned. They come up high enough on my tummy to make me feel safe, not cut off and lumpy.
If your period underwear and a pair of full body spanx had a baby? It would be denim leggings.
Honestly, aside from Magic Bullet, and the Shake Weight I bought Andy for Christmas, this is the best 3am potentially regrettable purchase I have ever made.