The Yoga Pants

About a year ago I was wearing my favorite work pants-- black with a light blue pinstripe and a knit top. Sitting down to my normal breakfast of the morning (2 eggs, ham and cheese on a buttered roll, large coffee with milk and sugar-- over the amount of calories and fat I take in a whole day now) I split the seam of the pants. Mortified and upset, I told my boss (after of course, finishing my breakfast and doing some work) that I had to go get another pair of pants because mine had split.

I went to the Avenue about 7 blocks away, walking in sandals in the humidity. When my swollen body got to the store, the only pair I fit of pants I fit into were a size 28 yoga pant with some detailing on the bottom. Nice pants-- comfy like sweats, and I wouldn't be able to rip them.

These pants have traveled the world with me-- Shanghai, Miami, Chicago, Beijing, Buenos Aires, CT, Paris and London. I tour the cities in them, I sleep in them, then I have hotels launder them. I pack them lovingly into my suitcase next to treasures and adventures. I wear them at home, I go walking in my city in them. I love them.

After one trip, I washed them myself. They shrank a bit in the length. So now they look like high water yoga pants. I put them away for a while. Lovingly, but away until I "lost some weight".

Last night, I found them. I put them on, did a modern dance and an "ode to the detailed yoga pant" poem. And then I walked out of them. This morning I found them at the bottom of my bed. And now, if I get up from this chair, in two steps they will be at my knees.

Yup.

Goodbye beautiful yoga pant. I never yoga'ed enough for you......