I like to post; I try to keep it for my treat after I work out. Which I did. Yay me. Tap squats with 25 lbs in each hand. I have no idea if that's good, but I feel macho. Using 15 pounds for dumbbell flys. ("Flies" looks funny.) And I bought some clothes. I kept having trouble with my tummy showing in pictures-- not a good look for a mother of three whose tummy never sees the light of day-- I am Irish white, it's not a treat, believe me. You see, I have 43 inch hips and a 32 inch waist and clothes are not made that way. My 16s were dropping right off me until it finally dawned that perhaps some 14s would be a good idea. Lightbulb! I went to Avenue and tried on approximately everything in the store, ending up with a nice pair of modern fit (read: below the waist so I don't end up with a huge gap at the back of the waistband), stretch, dark blue jeans, which incidentally was the recommendation in an article I read on finding jeans for the bodaciously bootied. The Internet is a wonder! I got a pair of capris, workout shorts, this cool early '80s looking tunic thing, and a pair of black undies to match my new black bra. (I am all about the new matching underwear. I have not had matching underwear since I got one pair from Victoria's Secret when I was 22. I am like a little girl with Days of the Week underpants: so proud of myself. I insisted on showing my best friend when she came to visit. See? My undies match my bra!)
It was a nice Non Scale Victory, as the scale was not a victory this morning, after 18 thousand pounds of fresh raspberries yesterday. But I will feel good about the fact that clothing sizes don't lie, more or less, and even though the scale said 185 this morning, at any point in the last seventeen years I would have been delighted to see that number, so I'll try to hang in and not get my (matching) knickers in a twist.