My Clothes Are Trying To Kill Me

Well, I had my Jenny Craig meeting last night -- I lost another two pounds, for a grand total loss of 38.2!

This means that the pants to the suit I bought a just a few months ago are a bit loose, and therefore sit more on my hips than up at my waist. I did not think this was a big deal, until . . .

My pants tried to kill me.

Sure, they'll deny it, something about being inanimate objects, but I know the truth.

They plotted . . . and they waited.

I'm pretty sure my shoes were in on it, too -- gives new meaning to the term "accessory," doesn't it?

As I was walking down the four flights of stairs in the parking garage (which I do, every day, up to this point without incident), my heel caught in the hem of my pants (which is now hanging lower than usual) and ALMOST led me head-first into the concrete wall. I think it was only by sheer willpower that I stayed vertical.

Sheesh.

What a way to wake up!