Forgive me if this post is too sentimental. I was reconciled to a faithful friend last night.
Plus, one of my favorite bands, The Black Keys, finally got some long overdue recognition. They took home three Grammys, flattening their competition in the best rock album category. This well earned nod wasn’t the only reason my heart was left a howlin’.
My own luck had turned when I came face to face with a pal whom I hadn’t seen in weeks. Someone who knows how to hug me in all the right places. The ONLY constant in my life. The only thing that didn’t judge me when I gained fifty pounds with each pregnancy. My yoga pants.
I noticed they went missing a few weeks ago as I was packing for a trip to the mountains. I fought back the tears. Struggling to process the overwhelming feeling of loss. My favorite pair of yoga pants had disappeared. The last time I saw my beloved pants they were safely tucked away in the closet. After ransacking my house for nearly two hours they were nowhere to be found. I secretly held out hope that we’d be reconciled someday.
It was a love that kept me waiting. And waiting.
Reluctantly, I packed my charcoal yoga pants instead. These pants were only three years old. We didn’t share the same history. Nothing like the black pair I owned which had clearly taken on a life of their own. But, in all fairness, my back-up pair of yoga pants served their purpose. They kept me comfortable during the drive up to the mountains. Still, I couldn’t stop thinking about my FIRST pair of yoga pants. We shared seven beautiful years together. Growing and stretching through the highs and lows.
We just fit.
Well, things took a turn yesterday evening while I was watching the Grammys. To be specific, it was Rhianna’s performance that prompted me to transfer the laundry. I couldn’t sit through her dubbed down version of “Stay” and my wet towels couldn’t wait. I got my butt off the couch and put in another load. You can imagine the joy I felt when I discovered my black yoga pants crumpled at the bottom of the hamper. I shrieked so loud that my husband thought a spider crawled up my leg. Sorry for startling you honey.
In that moment, I made a vow. I promised to never take my yoga pants for granted. To treasure them. Always line dry them. Trim their frayed edges. Mend every hole and tear. Learn how to thread a needle properly, anything to prolong their life. And guess what I did after I was reunited with my lost love? I immediately slipped them on. Yep, that’s right! I couldn’t risk losing my pants again.
HOWLIN’ for anything lately? Flip flops? More Sleep? Do tell.