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I should never have broken Rule#3.

Women know the rules. This is why we never throw out our old maternity clothes. We put them in a box, label it "DO NOT DESTROY" and store it in the basement.

Rule#1: As soon as you get rid of your maternity clothes, you will need them again.
Even at age fifty, I know better than to tempt fate by throwing that box away.

Rule#2: If you tell people you are dieting, you will not lose weight.

I know this from experience. But that is another story. This one is about breaking Rule#3: Buying jeans in a smaller size will ensure that you immediately gain weight in your hips and thighs.

I lost weight on the oral surgery diet. Every bite brought excruciating pain, so I ate very little. I did not tell anyone(see Rule#2) because talking hurt. By the time my mouth healed, I was twenty pounds lighter.

At first, my jeans felt slightly loose, and then they began to hang on my hips. I resisted the urge to buy new ones because I respected Rule#3. However, they began to look obscene. The crotch of the pants hung so low that it flapped at my knees like a flag. You could grab a whole handful of denim without ever touching flesh.

My husband actually suggested that I go shopping. Confused by that anomaly, I ignored my inner voice and drove to the mall.

Bypassing my usual size twelve, I tried on size ten. They were too large! Dazed and trembling, I hardly knew what to do. After all, size eight was three kids ago. But, I returned to the rack and got a pair in that size. They fit! My butt had never looked so good. I twisted and turned and checked every angle.

Credit card in hand, I approached the cashier. As she swiped the card at the register, my thighs began to tingle. Ignoring this portent of disaster, I rushed home, excited and eager to show off my new shape. I ripped off the baggy pants and tried on the new jeans in front of my own full-length mirror.

My hips seemed to bulge, and my butt protruded. The fit was not as sensational as it had seemed in the store, but I refused to admit it. This was simply bad lighting. Eager to believe what I had seen at the store, I hesitated one moment, and then did the unthinkable; I cut off the tags.

After that, things slid quickly downhill. Within days, the jeans were too tight. By the end of the month, my old size twelves no longer hung loosely. Six weeks later, my slimness was a fading memory.

Last week, I found that pair of size eight jeans in the back of my closet. I wonder...maybe if I throw them away...

Learn more about this author, Kathy Downey.
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