Hands up if the thought of wearing shorts frightens you more than the idea of going to the grocery store without a mask. I see you over there waving. We understand each other. Remember, there is safety in numbers.
This column comes with a warning: there will be body-shaming and self-deprecating humour for the benefit of my own sanity (laughter at my own expense is allowed), and while I am perfectly okay with humorous self-sabotage, you may be far more confident than I am and thus, not amused by my own amusement. So be it. But this is my story. I reserve the right to be self-critical.
Since we’re blaming everything about the crappy year thus far on the pandemic, I blame COVID-19 for the fact that last year’s spring/summer wardrobe doesn’t fit this year’s figure. It totally would have otherwise. Take my word for it. Pre-pandemic, I had big plans. Dreams. Goals. Targets. (I’m lying, but walk with me). I had every intention of stretching out those white skinny jeans for one more season. The capri pants were a sure-thing too. So many outfits, so many plans. (I had zero plans, but keep walking).
But as I pulled the T-shirts, skirts, pants and blouses out of their winter confinement it became evident that my own confinement has cost me dearly. Yes, I’ve been fortunate to be one of the healthy people during this nightmare of contamination, for which I am grateful. My life hasn’t changed all that much, honestly. I’ve been actively out and working every day, but just not actively working out at all. You see the difference. When I’m at work I sit still all day, and when I’m home, I’m basically a human sloth. It’s not lazy so much as, well, no, it’s just plain laziness. I’ll own it.
Without a doubt the copious amounts of potato chips and French onion dip have contributed to the expanded waist line, as have the buttered popcorn movie nights, mid-afternoon cracker snacks and the increased coffee consumption bloat, but the silver-lining here is that I cannot drink beer. Lucky me.
Changing the winter to summer wardrobe is entirely too much work these days. I used to enjoy this seasonal tradition and fooling myself into believing the refreshed wardrobe renewal was like getting brand new clothes, but who am I kidding? Last year’s clothes are just that: last year’s clothes, recycled from the previous year’s clothes, and a few of them holding on from the year before that, which is honestly, let’s face it, why most of them don’t fit. (Continue to toe the line with me, please).
I really want to add a colour to my wardrobe other than monochromatic variations of grey, or as I like to refer to them, my “50 shades of grey,” which include charcoal grey, light grey, dark-but-not-black grey and the ever-popular Heather grey. I miss vibrant corals and pinks, yellows, greens and crisp white T-shirts. It’s time. Mother Nature, make it so.
Don’t lose faith in me yet. I will get my energy back. I’ve declared a moratorium on chips and dip until July (my birthday) and have sworn off buttered popcorn (until Saturday). I will be good. Pandemic or not, this human sloth is ready to get moving and get healthy. Walk with me. We’ve got this.
