...out that is. 

I woke up this morning, like any other morning, and went straight to my closet.  I was in search of the pair of jeans that would best accent the top I had been planning to wear for almost two days.  (I like to add a little something extra to my ensemble on Friday's).  It was a no-brainer... the faded black (worn, not by design) Banana Republic jeans that have been on my list of top five faves for nearly 2 years and counting.

As I got dressed, I realized I was trying a little harder than normal to pull my favorite pair jeans over my new hips - lovingly yet begrudingly referred to as my "bubbles."  It's no surprise that the jeans were fitting a little tighter this morning.  My bubbles have been expanding at a rather rapid rate with the advent of stress (which equates to eating) and rain (which equates to a lack of 4-milers).  But it shouldn't be this hard?  My Friday perkiness immediately switched to a moment of silence, as I inhaled, squeezed my tummy in, and fastened the button - praying to my sweet Jesus that I would be able to breathe.

Then I remembered... I washed my jeans the other day! That's why they were so tight!!  Whew, and here I thought I was really going to have to give up French Fries and Chai Tea Lattes!

Then it happened.

I sat down at my desk about an hour later, and I heard the faintest of noises that resembled that of a tear?!  What?!  I looked down at the inner thigh of my right pant leg - and sure enough, a small tear had begun to form and it was official.  I was busting out of my jeans.

Dare I say it, but it's time for a change.  In jeans (clearly) and in habits.  Damn.