I’ve-given-up-on-life pants

Aaron had no business wearing those pants, but with a 2 year-old and a newborn at home, we all understood. But, they were god-awful. No back or front, these khaki disasters had been hung wet on a hanger so the wrinkles were till death do they part.

They reminded me of the pants I sewed in 6^th grade home economics: no pockets or discernable back and front and an elastic waist. God-awful, rumply, saggy loser pants. The hens at work promptly named them “Aaron’s I’ve-given-up-on-life pants.”

That is now the term I use to describe anything that a person has just given up on. “I’ve-given-up-on-life body.” “I’ve-given-up-on-life boyfriend.” “I’ve-given-up-on-life job.” It’s when you’re shooting low and you don’t even pretend to care.

In my mid-twenties, after having two children, I gave up on being female. It was too hard to figure out fashion, fitness, and how to be sexy. It was all I could do to pull on my men’s Levis, large sweatshirt and brown oxford flats.

And my hair. I kept getting it cut shorter and shorter, hoping it would just get sucked into my skull like the retractable hair doll, Crissy, so I wouldn’t even have to deal with it.

Fast forward. I became a singer, the two kids left home and I got a divorce. Somewhere along that path I discovered my femininity and jeeze-o-pete, and I will never go back to Birkenstock’s. I won’t even appear in public without heels, lipstick and a low-cut top. It feels good to care.

What have you given up on? Your job? Relationships? Your weight or appearance? It gets harder to get up after life kicks our ass. It’s really tempting to pretend we don’t care and that life has no more blessings for us. And it’s dead wrong. Just ask my Mom.

Bunny is eighty years old and just had a visit to her sports medicine orthopedist. Her hip pain is beginning to affect her performance in Zumba class. She wants to get it fixed so she can start a water aerobics class on Thursdays. Not giving up on life just yet.