Waist Not, Want Not

Dear Reid:

I just saw the movie of you riding your bike without the training wheels. We’re talking way cool. That’s just the way you are: always the source of action and scoot. When you grow up, you will either be the world’s tallest Leprechaun or the world’s shortest Fomorian. Either way, you are certain to have an impact.

I need your advice on something. Do you think there’s such a thing as magic pants?

Here’s some background:

When I weigh 195 pounds or so, like now, my pants need a thirty-eight-inch waist. When I weigh 180 pounds, the waist needs to be thirty-seven inches. At the Target, you can’t buy thirty-seven-inch pants. That’s the way it is. The choices are 38 or 36. Custom sizes are available at any haberdashers but the price isn’t justifiable for someone certain of losing weight. Get it?

The last time I weighed 180 pounds just before Thanksgiving, I puzzled over this problem. The solution, of course, was to replace the whole wardrobe of 38-inchers with 36-inchers. After all, it would only be a matter of days – a week at the most – ‘til the pants fit perfectly. Do you see what’s happening? I was about to imbue these Target trousers with magical powers. I didn’t express it this way, of course. The effect was the same. These pants had totemic prowess sufficient to ward off belly fat.

It didn’t work, as you know. The pants and their false promise were thwarted. It was a matter of deep disappointment. It put me in a funk. Don’t get any wild ideas. I’m much too sophisticated to have imagined that there is such a thing as magic. Yet, look what happened. The net effect was to engender a downward spiral.

We do this sort of thing all the time. I hinted at this to Cori last Monday. We should be suspicious of all substitutes for achievement and appeals to dark powers. What I should have done is press on with a program that was working and manage a setback within the parameters of my own powers (whatever they are).

Today I listened to Rosemary Clooney; Songs From The Girl Singer. It was the best.

Tomorrow is a day of rest.

Much Love,

Poppy