On Halloween I took the kids downtown do Trick or Treating and while we were walking I kept feeling the ole underoos slipping down. At first, I kept telling myself it was just a little slip, no reason to hike them back up. That little slip turned into a whole ass. By the time we got back to the car, my undies were no longer over my ass, they were under my ass. I tried a few nonchalant (In my head they were nonchalant) grab and pulls, but these fuckers weren't staying.
So everyone I know, knows that I moved out here to Oregon about a year ago and all of my close people know I haven't transitioned well. It's been rough and when the rough stuff gets going, I get to eating. I'll be honest, I don't care about my body or my mind as long as I got a meal in my belly. These are coping skills, people. Look it up. Who needs a doctor when you got a Polar Pop and hot dog?
Now that you've got that little back story I need to move one to this morning. I'm getting dressed, about to take the kids to school, because that pretty much my only responsibility these days. So I am slipping on the White Cottons and they aren't really making their way over my boodie. Wham! It hits me. I have officially eaten myself into my underwear not fitting me anymore. The stretchiest piece of clothing I own is at it's max capacity.
You would think that I would immediately get on the horn with The Biggest Loser people, but I did not. I shrugged.
