It’s been a long time since I wore a suit. Estimates have it at about a year. And before that, it was roughly another year. I slid my arms into a suit jacket this morning and started flailing them and kicking my legs in desperation. I was drowning in de la Renta.
My savior? The remaining fat in my stomach that buoyed me back to the surface. So there I was, standing in front of the mirror, truly worthy of my name. Jacket baggy with some basketball shorts on. A wayward rap metaphor of some sort.
I started to go through my other jackets, then realized I didn’t wanna start Monday morning playing with my life nor being tardy to the office party. Can you imagine that tombstone? ” Here lies Slim. Tailored He Was Not.” That’s no bueno, so jeans it was. I’d fight against the waves of formal wear in the evening before heading off to the Black Celebration Awards, where I’m a finalist in two categories (Blogger & Website). Lord, please don’t have me winning an award in a baggy suit. Give me back my flab for just one day so I can fill one of these joints out.
I begged Him before to let me fit a pair of tight pants. He gave me the determination to make it happen. But J got jokes…and lessons. I guess I’m learning a little bit about the other side of sacrifice. Oh, and shopping. Lots of shopping that lingers in my near future. That’s the cost of the thinner life. I think it’s time to add that to the budget. Jesus be a new writing gig (or influx of rèsumè reviews and speaking requests). I’ma need me some updated suits!