The rolls on the butt go flap flap flap....

Sometimes I wear stretchy pants... it's for fun. Well not really. I wear them because my ass is having a hard time fitting into anything else to be quite honest. I can grab my post-pregnancy belly-fat roll and shake at you like a wagging finger if you misbehave. Upon comparing belly-fat rolls the other day, a xco-worker of mine said... 'but you've had kids'. Oh, like what?? that makes it okay?! Fraid not sista. I do not particularly care for my stretchy pants; I find them quite unflattering and they tend to wedgie-fy themselves on a regular basis. I used to consider myself... hmmm... idk... somewhat fashionable. Based on further review though... I find that I have morphed into a somewhat frumpy, non-make-up-wearing, pony-tail sporting, stretchy-pant wearing shell of myself. It's a bit painful to look at to be quite honest. Sure, I have kids, but lots of women have kids and they look great. What gives? oh yea... that's right... they have kids, unlimited funds, and apparently like exercise. While I myself absolutely abhor exercise. Evil thing. Sweating? Really? Yuck! No thank you. And my other problem... I like to eat. I eat all the things (shout out to hyperbole-and-a-half there). I am currently compulsively collecting recipes to hoard in my too tiny, near-to-bursting recipe cabinet. Yes, an entire cabinet full of fabulous recipes that even if I used one for each meal everyday, I would never run out of new recipes... not in my lifetime anyway. But that is fodder for another blog I suppose....

So where does this leave me and my spandex-wearing self-pitying self? SOL... yea that's what I said... SOL. I'm gonna eat, and not exercise, and hug my belly-fat roll around me to keep me warm at night and that is that.