girl friends and thighs

It’s been a while since I’ve had a three hour conversation on the phone. Even longer since I felt like I’ve had close girl friends.

Lately, things have been changing for the better.

I’m not blaming anyone here, but when you graduate college and start your life, it becomes harder to keep up the relationships that came so easily in your pre-responsibility life. When art projects and term papers were the weight on your shoulder for the week, it was much easier to have girl talk and go on carefree shopping trip to the mall. However now, with surgeries and new jobs, a business on the rise and a marriage, I find it somewhat of a task to even make an effort towards friendships. This sounds terrible. I am aware. I’ve lost my sense of  “girl friend” over the past couple of years, and, until recently, wasn’t cognizant of how much I missed it. I must have forgotten that it isn’t a task at all but a relief to have some chics around.

Luckily a trio of ladies have helped me regain this vital layer to my being. One I can talk to about anything, who is able to be real with me, but knows she is stuck with my for a while by way of  associated marriage. Another who dashes in and out like an explosion of fresh excitement, like a splash of lemon in our water glass of life. And the last who has been there since the beginning, and always feels like home, even if I’m just looking at the pics of her cats!

I could write on and on about these ladies, and in time I’m sure I will. But for now,  all you need to know is that you should watch out for yourself. Be sure you don’t lose this part, or any other part, of yourself by way of life’s hectic manner. I’m glad to have my “girl friends” back.

 

Something I wish would never come back: my thighs.

While pregnant, I gained some weight as usual. My legs, specifically my thighs, decided to grow right there along with my belly. My pant of choice was that of Aerie Yoga Capris. It’s been nine months. My thighs have returned to their normal state. This is not before leaving a permanent mark in my ego, as now all three pair of my yoga pants are worn so thin at the seams of my inner thighs that there are visible holes. Holes that remind me to not eat that next cookie, and to run the rest of the way around the circle. Holes that remind me that these pants are not sold in store anymore. And a constant reminder that my thighs still rub together, and at this point I have no shame. Just please, restrain yourself from looking at these holes when I come around in my yoga pants. We’ll save each other some embarrassment. Thanks.

 

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