Betrayed by my stretchy pants (OPED)

RBC | I’ve worked from home for a long time, which means “stretchy pants” (leggings, pajamas and the like) are my uniform six out of seven days a week. When I set out to find three professional(ish) outfits for Colorado Press Association’s annual conference this past weekend, I was confident it would be easy, even exciting, like playing “dress up.”

It was exactly the opposite. Know why? Because stretchy pants are liars.

It’s Wednesday night. We’re leaving the next morning, so I decide to try on my neglected dressy slacks, just to be sure my outfits look nice. They slide up to mid-thigh and stubbornly refuse to budge another inch. The pants must have shrunk in the wash. Denial.

I dig deeper into my closet, the pile of discards grows, and I get progressively more annoyed. A pair of shrunken pants is plausible, but half my closet? This must be some sort of cosmic error. Anger.

Maybe I can squeeze into the slacks if I do the hop-shuffle. (I try. They rip.) Maybe I can fast for the next three days. Bargaining.

I can’t believe my stretchy pants have betrayed me like this. They never told me the late night candy raids were becoming a problem. I don’t even want to go now. Depression.

I suppose I’ve officially become “fluffy.” It is what it is, but no one will notice or care what I’m wearing, anyway. Acceptance.

No one did notice, of course, because it’s not about our wardrobes, it’s about being the truth seekers and story tellers of our communities. I was inspired to see so many people committed to good journalism, and I’ll be celebrating and thanking them during Colorado Journalism Week through April 22.

(At home, in my pajamas, as it should be.)