"Uncle," she cried.

Yep, I gave in last night. I went to the mall and bought new jeans in a size larger than the ones I currently own. When I got home and tried them on again, it was like what the hell happened? These fit almost like the old ones. I peered at the labels and saw the difference—the old ones were “stretch.” Damn.

The good news is that I got on the scale this morning and had lost three pounds. Maybe you heard the cheer coming from my neighborhood.

Then I remembered.

In the past, whenever I’ve finally broken down and bought new clothes in larger sizes, voila. I lose weight. No really, it happens. And then, unlike the skinny clothes that get pushed aside waiting for their day in the sun, I give away the fat clothes without a trace of regret for only having worn them a couple times.

I’m hoping to have a reason to clean out my closet real soon.


In writing news, today’s the last day to overnight (remember when that wasn’t a verb?) entries to RWA’s Golden Heart Contest, so natch, I waited until the last second. I’m almost embarrassed about taking up a spot with a manuscript I have (agent/editor alert: stop reading here) such little confidence in. Crossing my fingers that I’m a poor judge of my own work and that little things like rejection letters and other contest losses mean nothing. Absolutely nothing.