Feeling: assless
Listening to: Iron and Wine - Sunset Soon Forgotten
Reading/Watching: mostly Buffy eps, while knitting

I am being haunted by the Ghost of My Previous Ass.

All my jeans, slacks, whatever, were purchased to fit a woman with a rather generous, bubble-shaped caboose. With the exception of the most stretchy, rather tight pants that I own, all of my slacks tend to billow out to shape the curve of where my ass used to be.

So no matter how slender I am, my pants still warmly embrace the memory of the ass they knew and loved. My rear end is shrinking and firming, but the pants hold a saggy, deflated space for the ass that they hope will someday find its way back home. I try to tell the pants that Previous Ass is happy, that I gave it away to a family with a nice farm so it can run and play in the fields, but the pants do not believe me.

I wind up looking a bit ridiculous, since I'm beginning to cinch in my pants to keep them from falling around my hips. Small, bunched-in waist, and bustle-like pouf behind. It's giving J-Lo (newly christened "Jennifer Lopez") a run for her money.

Perhaps I should ask for clothing gift certificates for Christmas.

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