Today is a good day.
Much like all 33-year-old heterosexual men, I keep a pair of "skinny pants" in the back of my closet, hidden far away from the rest of my clothing, for fear of intimidating them. These "skinny pants" were purchased a few years ago (in Grad School, for those of you with a Rosetta Stone for the timeline) and promptly fell into disuse due to, oh, my ass getting larger. However, the looked good, they felt good, and gosh darn it, they were the pride of my "dressy" clothes.
Since arriving in Jackson, I have not put on said "skinny pants" for fear of becoming insanely depressed because they didn't fit. But, my lethargic non-laundry-doing self was left with little choice this morning. Try on the skinny pants, and wear them, or come to work in sweatpants. Or nude.
-- and dude...yeah. The SKINNY PANTS FIT. What's more, is I have room left OVER in said skinny pants. Rock on. And my hotness factor increased by a level of twenty-seven points.
So, I'm celebrating by drinking an Egg Nog Latte. Screw it -- I can afford to gain a pound or two.