I’ve never been on the cutting edge of fashion. My normal winter attire consists of jeans, sweatshirts, rag socks, and a truly hideous fuzzy bathrobe. After menopause, my weight shot up 20 pounds, and I did what most women do: I kept a crowbar in the closet to pry myself into my jeans for as long as I could before giving up and buying a larger size.
I freely admit to sporting camel toes and muffin tops in the meantime. I’m not proud of it. Recently I’ve managed to lose five pounds, which equates to one bag of flour and a little shame. My jeans no longer feel like instruments of torture. (I’d sing like a canary if anyone so much as threatened me with the rack, scraping their fingernails on a blackboard, or liver and onions.)
My daughter told me about a friend who had to explain to her 80 year-old mother what camel toes are. I can only imagine the conversation.