This morning I was gripped by the anal fever.
[I have to stop typing and enjoy that first sentence. Oh, my literary masterpiece!]
I'll rephrase that and say that I was COMPELLED (by certain personality traits linked to issues of control) to clean my closet this morning.
Here in the deep south that is what one must do at the first hint of cool weather.
Pack up all the sleeveless shirts, the linen frocks, the shorts...
ALL OF YOU TO THE ATTIC!!
Bring out the parkas and alpaca sweaters!
[In two weeks you will find me sweating like a pig and trudging up the attic stairs trying to find something to wear but don't even think of mocking me or I will be forced to say something nasty about you in a sweet tone of voice and follow it up with "bless your heart."]
Anyway, I unpacked my fall wardrobe and found it lacking.
Somehow I don't own any fat pants.
How can this be?
How can a woman such as myself manage without fat pants?
It can't be done.
Every so often (like... I don't know... say every TWENTY EIGHT DAYS) a woman needs some fat pants.
I need them right now.
My distended Sharpei is PRESSING against the button of my jeans.
People, Aunt Flo is on her way and I ain't got no stinkin' fat pants.
I found this picture as a header to an article on PMS.
That's EXACTLY how I'm feeling right now.
Must. Buy. Fat Pants.