Hip Huggers, Your TRUE Size

Hip huggers... The official definition is: Tight-fitting pants whose waistline rests at hip level. Last year, in Louisiana, legislators tried to make it illegal for teenagers to wear hip huggers. While I think hip hugger laws are slightly extreme, I do believe that certain people should not be allowed to wear pants whose waistline rests at hip level. And those are the people who cannot accept their own TRUE pants size.

Every woman is well aware that her hips are bigger than her waist. If you decide to forgo pants that fit at the waist and replace them with pants that rest at the hips, a bigger size is warranted. In other words if you want to wear hip huggers, GET A BIGGER SIZE.

There is an obvious need here for TWO awareness campaigns. The first would be a grass roots campaign to help people accept their true size. The second would be a campaign to help women realize that hip huggers should be purchased in at least one size bigger than other styles of pants.

There are at least 3, if not 103, reasons why TRUE SIZE REALIZATION and BUYING BIGGER PANTS are important to you, me and the rest of the world.

First of all, knowing your true size will save everyone a lot of unnecessary grief. If you are not a size 6, please don't try to wear a size 6. And, if you absolutely REFUSE to buy that size 16, then go on a diet. Please don't cram all of those hips into a size 12 and force the rest of us to look at the 16 pounds of flesh that is squishing through the empty space between the bottom of your too-short-shirt and the top of your too-tight-pants. Besides saving those around you from having to witness such a display, YOU WILL BE ABLE TO BREATHE. Knowing your true size is healthy for everyone.

Also on the health front, there have been medical reports showing that wearing pants that are too tight at the hipline is causing NERVE DAMAGE in young girls. Across the country, girls are showing up in their doctor's offices after months of tingling and the loss of feeling in their hips, groin and thighs. So, wearing the right size pants will insure that you will be able to feel it the next time you sit on a tack or the next time you have to go to the bathroom and it will help guarantee that, if you are old enough, you enjoy sex.

The third and final reason to know your true size, to accept your true size and to wear your true size is... you CAN look good in hip huggers. They are hot and they are fashionable. And, when worn right, they are sexy.

Age Ain't Nothin" But A Number: Younger Men

You've probably heard the song by Alliyah. But you've probably never really listened to the words. Let me give you a taste.

Age ain't nothin' but a number
Throwin' down ain't nothin' but a thang (But a thang)
This lovin' I have for you
It'll never change

Take my hand and come with me
Let me show to ecstasy
Boy, be brave, don't be afraid
'Cause tonight we're gonna go all the way

Don't mean to be bold
But I gotta let you know
I gotta thing for you
And I can't let go, ooh, my

Age ain't nothin' but a number (No, no)
Throwin' down ain't nothin' but a thang
This lovin' I have for you
It'll never change (My age)

So, what do you think? Is it like Alliyah says? Is age just a number? Well, it depends on how old you are.

This past weekend, I met a guy. We'll call him Big (because I can't think up my own names--I have to borrow them from big TV shows on HBO). Big was hot. 6'6", 250 lbs., dark hair, great smile, smelled fabulous. He could dance. We liked the same music, were both preoccupied by Sportscenter on the TV over the bar, and we shared a talent for sarcastic comebacks. I liked how he looked and from the moment we started talking, I liked him too. After "knowing" him for a few hours, Big seemed to be a great guy. We were clicking on all cylinders when I found out... Big is 23 years old. Young stud...

When he was born, I was in 5th grade. And, when he started kindergarten, I was learning how to drive. By the time he got his license, I had gone to college, gotten kicked out and returned to finish my degree. He graduated from high school in 1999. TEN YEARS after I graduated. In 1999, I was in a relationship, working in corporate America, preparing to have my first child (that's a story for another time). Again, he was graduating from high school.

I was telling my mom about this amazing specimen of a man. She listened. Then she hung up without saying a word. A day later, she called me back and said, "Michele, don't let his age stop you." My mom proceeded to tell me that she had been on both sides. She was 18 years younger in one relationship and 8 years older in another. Of course she ended up with my dad who is 2 years younger and 2 inches shorter. (Dating shorter men goes against the very fiber of my being!)

None of this is really a life issue for me as we met on a trip to Memphis and we will probably never see each other again. (He's from Nevada; I'm from Missouri.) But it got me thinkin'. What if we had met here? Would his age be a problem for me or would mine be a problem for him? Or would we find that age ain't nothin' but a number?

ARM FLAB!!!

My arms are SO incredibly fat . While dieting, if I could see a difference in these arms immediately, I would be so happy. They are almost unfit for viewing by others. They are close to offensive. I wore a sleeveless shirt to work yesterday, caught a glimpse of myself in the restroom after lunch and thought, "MY GOD WOMAN, stop being so unfair to your co-workers. They shouldn't have to look at that." I made a conscious effort the rest of the day to say hello and nod rather than waving. I didn't want to knock myself or anyone else out with a gust of arm flab flapping in the wind.

This FAT ARM REVELATION is not new to me. My arms have always been big but in college they were muscular. I think I realized they were disgustingly fat 2 years ago in Florida. My friend Cindy and I rented a convertible for our trip. We were making the 2 hour quest from Orlando to Hernando to see her dad. Letting the top down, we cranked up the radio and hit the road. In order to clock as much sun time as we could, we wore our tank tops and shorts for the ride.. We didn't want a two hour road trip to cut into our Florida sun time. It was afterall about 30 degrees back home in St. Louis.

Cindy drove and I relaxed in the passenger seat. I leaned back and propped my elbow up on the door, grasping the edge of the front window with my hand. And suddenly, I saw it. Like a flag whipping in the wind, my arm flab flapped back and forth. Horrifying! Not only to me but I am sure to everyone who sped past us. Just add this experience to the YOU KNOW YOU'RE FAT WHEN... file.