By Brianna Phelan
I recently had a friend introduce me to tights. You know, the stretchy, forgiving ones from Old Navy. At first I thought I had died and gone to heaven. No confining pants. No buttons digging into my belly button. Or awkwardly placed pockets making my butt look like a lop sided apple.
A month went by and I wasn’t paying attention to what I was eating. Really, who needs to when your spandex tights keep everything all tucked and sucked in. Squished into place. And held in tight.
Then it happened.
I was getting undressed in front of the mirror and took off my magical pants. Only to realize that things didn’t stay tucked and sucked in once the tights were removed. All those Oreo cookies and ice cream cones had caught up to me. My pants had betrayed me. I frantically tried to cram myself into my recently tossed aside favourite pair of jeans only to find that it was like a scene from a bad comedy. Except not even remotely funny. They wouldn’t do up. They wouldn’t budge. And trying to pull them back off my thighs again made me screech like a cat being dropped from an 11th floor balcony.
So thank you friend for introducing me to the most comfortable pants on the planet. But for now I will refer to them as my pants of shame. The ones that hugged me like a glove but betrayed me like a pimple on my wedding day.
Someday I will pull out my tights again from the back of the closet and revel in their powers to hide the things which should never see the light of day. Until then, I write this while staring at my treadmill and my jeans, as both seem to be laughing at me.
Damn you, tights. You win this round.
Brianna Phelan is 1/2 of The Last Forty Percent Photography. International Wedding and Boudoir Photographers, based out of Ontario Canada. A mom, a wife, a business owner and blogger. www.lastfortypercent.com