Not Mama's Little Girl, Anymore

Six

True to form, after an amazing night of fun in Rome with Clyde, we parted company and I didn't hear anything from him after returning stateside. Figures, but I can't hold him totally at fault, I didn't attempt to contact him either. I thought I'd seem desperate and no way, no how was I going down that road.

I became enmeshed in the corporate world, and with Claudia by my side, we took New York by storm, or more in the way of a drizzle for me (remember my dating experiences). Yeah, it could have been a fine mist, now that I think about it.

So, this is where my story picks up...

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I jump up and down in front of my mirror trying to suck in my bulging gut. Pulling the edges of my luck pair of jeans together -- in the hope a miracle will happen -- so I can manage to get them close enough to zip up.

At least they used to be my lucky jeans.

"Nat! Come on, we need to leave," my roommate, Claudia, yells from the hallway.

"Just a sec, I'll be out in a minute!" I hop on the bed. One more thing for me to try. I flop onto my back, holding my breath while I pray for divine intervention. Almost there. Finally, they zip. As I lay there, I wonder if I can actually get up from the bed without having my jeans cut off the circulation to my lower legs. Maybe this wasn't a great idea.

"Nat! I'm leaving with or without you." Claudia sounds pissed off. I roll to my side, using my arms to prop myself up into a semi-sitting position. The sound of the front door opening can be heard. If I wasn't meeting up with a guy I have a major crush on, I wouldn't even go, but Lordy, I couldn't miss this chance to catch his eye.

My body shuffles stiff-legged toward the bedroom door. Picture a zombie in that TV show everyone loves, and you will have my sexy walk down. Won't that be an attention-grabber? What the fudge am I doing?

As I move down the hallway, I hear Claudia gasp, "How'd you even get those on? You can barely walk. Can you even sit?" Claudia circles me shaking her head.

"These are my lucky jeans and I really thought I needed to wear them tonight, but I guess I've gained a bit of weight," My embarrassed mumble reflects my lack of discipline. "I'll figure it out. Let's just go, alright. I don't want to be late."

I manage to lurch out to the car and with some maneuvering, I'm able to close the car door. When I recline my seat back as far as possible, I manage to fit inside the car. The blood supply to my legs is most definitely cut off due to the denim tourniquet on my lower body. My legs feel numb.

"You aren't going to be able to sit at a table," Claudia helpfully informs me.

"I can hang at the bar. I won't be eating anyway. I'm on a diet. Now." I pause, a bit irritated when I see her cynical look. "Besides, my jeans would burst if I tried to eat." My stomach growls loud enough to set off car alarms. I tend to exaggerate a little, but I do shoot a worried look at Claudia. She laughs so hard, she snorts. "That's right, laugh. Haha. I'm starving."

The car pulls into the parking lot of the bar & grill. Claudia takes pity on me and offers her hand to help me get out of the car. My shallow breathing isn't from excitement but an inability to take a deep breath. Suddenly, I understand fully the Victorian notion of smelling salts and fainting couches. If corsets obstructed breathing as much as my lucky jeans do, I'm surprised any woman lived long enough to procreate. I promise myself I'll never ever eat another slice of pizza or have a piece of cheesecake again.

"Do I look fat, Claudia?" I ask now? After we arrive? If she says yes, I will insist I have a blood clot and need to get to the ER.

"Sweetie, you look like your jeans are painted on you. Don't look now -- here they come," Claudia whispers. I turn, scratch that, I tiny-stepped with stiff legs so I could look in the correct direction as my dream guy approaches with a smile just for me.

My jeans are lucky.