Fat Pants 

In honor of my favorite eating day ever, I thought I’d reblog this post. Stay tuned for an all new Thanksgiving-I’m-fat-so-fuck-it post!  

I need this in my life! Seriously, though!
 
Believe it or not, I’m new to the marvel that is fat pants. Of course, I’ve always participated in the “fat pants” life, but God forbid I give my holey flannel pants, that I’ve had since middle school, a name that explains why the elastic has been stretched out for 5 years, but they stay on, because the band fits snugly between two fat rolls. God forbid. 
I can’t wait to get into my elastic waistbands everyday. Erryday. I can hardly wait to get inside the privacy of my own home before I start disrobing. My pants are unbuttoned and the bra strap has been unhooked before I even park my car. As I make my way up to the door, I’m removing said bra under my shirt. It’s a fucking art form, getting prepared for fat-pants-time. If you don’t know, you’re not doing it right. 
Speaking of…
People who lounge in jeans and say they are comfortable are straight up liars or completely delusional. Ain’t no one comfortable in denim. No one. Put on some damn sweatpants like the rest of us-your jeans-lounging is making my fat hurt. 
Now, when I said before that I am new to fat pants, it’s essentially true when it comes to the holidays. Just recently I’ve discovered that you don’t have to bust the buttons off your pants after Thanksgiving dinner, because you can wear fucking sweats to dinner. 
Who am I trying to impress with my sausage casing tights and LBD, anyway? No one in my family gives one crap what anyone is wearing. All we are concerned with is, “Where dat gravy at?” I mean, really. 
 
Pinterest always knows just what to say
 
I have spent far too many years being positively miserable after a smorgasbord of regret to even comprehend. 
No more skinny jeans that leave impressions, from the band and seams, in my skin for a week. 
No more dresses that require sucking it in, because after dinner it’s physically impossible to suck in an 8 pound food baby. 
No more fashion tights, because the band always gives way, rolls down my stomach, and doesn’t stop until it’s obvious “One Size Fits All” is a damn, filthy lie. 
NO MORE
Tomorrow I am doing Thanksgiving the Fat Girl way, the Champion Eater way. I’m going to dinner like I mean business. 
Sweatpants=no pain, all gain. 
Thanksgiving is the one day that it’s OK to eat your weight in food. I want to enjoy it, dammit. 
#teamfatpants
 
Courtesy of Buzzfeed
 

28 thoughts on “Fat Pants ”

  1. We spend a lot of time worried about what people think of us, by us I mean humans, not you and I. We seem to view the world behind a middle finger while scream, “Screw you, your grandma, and you’re pets.” Or perhaps that is just me…
    I hate ‘One Size Fits All’ stuff it always seem to tell me a different story like, ‘One Size Fits All: Except for Wes’ and I sit there silently crying as I eat my hundreth piece of lemon desert.
    I’m glad I ran into your blog, you make me laugh. Keep being awesome.

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  4. I have a special pair of pants I’ve set aside for today. I’ve had them planned for awhile. Hell, I’m going for comfort. Today is the only day I can shove as much food in my face as I want and not feel bad about it. My parents were kind of ‘stuffy’ and there’s no way in hell they would have allowed me to wear sweatpants to dinner lol. But, I’m spending it with my in-laws.. so I’m 100% #teamfatpants this year and excited about it. I want that sweatshirt. It would be hilarious to wear to the gym.

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  9. I have been fat and thin but you still need to take off jeans when you get home. I, too, am an expert at taking off a bra underneath my top. Do you think that is a skill that I should put on LinkedIn. It is truly a magic trick – upstanding beautiful breasts within bra and then deflated balloons… K x

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  10. My fat pants are fleece and have Cookie Monster on them. OMNOMNOM. I wore them as I tore through yet another bag of popcorn earlier this week. The hubs commented when I was done that I needed vacuuming. I’m not embarrassed that I’m messy; I’m sad that I missed a few pieces.

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  12. Even skinny minnies start taking off bras under their tops, slipping into the sweats. Restrictive clothes are horrible! Have a wonderful Thanksgiving and enjoy that gravy!

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