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numbers-- what do they mean?


It feels like numbers have a huge influence on my life these days. No, I'm not into numerology, although when I was a kid my dad was into it. I remember seeing scraps of paper lying around with our full names written on it and numbers above it. Then there was a total next to the individual numbers, like a math equation.

I think it works like this. You get the number total and then that corresponds to what kind of personality traits you have. I don't know what I'm talking about. I just pulled that out of my ass.

Back to me and MY numbers, because it is all about me when we're at this here cyberspace address.

There are so many numbers out there that have been assigned a value: how much you weigh, your cholesterol level, your blood pressure (can you tell I was just at the doctor's office?), how much money you make, how much money you spend on this or that, etc.

What's on my mind most lately is the number on the scale.

I only have one pair of jeans and some workout pants that fit right now. That sucks. And I really don't want to spend money on some transient pair of pants that are eventually going to be too big. But with the prospect of a hole beginning in the left knee of my jeans, I found myself roaming the aisles of Target.

I almost bought a pair that was $19.99 but then I stumbled upon the clearance rack. As you may know, when you're trolling the clearance rack you can't be too picky. So I found a pair of low rise khaki pants that originated from the Juniors Department. That meant instead of them being a size 12, they are a size 15. That was a big hurdle, right there.

In all my life, I have never had to purchase anything larger than a size 14. A 12 is bad enough, but a 15! Shoot me now.

Okay, so I convinced myself that the number, in this case, doesn't really mean anything. They fit and they are on the clearance rack for $9.99.

The next hurdle was that they are really low. I haven't bought a pair of pants for about three or four years�I'm sure that was before the low-rise craze began. I did try to test out the cleavage factor in the dressing room and it looked sort of dismal, but they were only $9.99.

I took the plunge. With my Target gift card, the total came to 33 cents. I bought pants for 33 cents! Yeah team! Suddenly that 15 was trumped by a 33!

I was happy again.

Until I got home and put the pants on for a trial run. I quickly realized I had to go commando if I was gonna wear these pants. I spent some time in front of the mirror at home, holding the baby and bending in different ways, when suddenly I realized I had to pick my daughter up at pre-school. No time to change my pants. It was 10:54 am.

So the happiness of 33 was replaced with the anxiety of 10:54. We made it to school and I got my kid, but I had to do vertical dips (bend at the knees, keep your back straight) while getting the kids' seatbelts on, so I didn't shock my fellow parents and embarrass myself.

I was convinced that my 33 cent pants could be salvaged and it only took a day of brainstorming until I figured out what to do. I sewed a four-inch strip of beige fabric all along the waistline and then put Velcro on the enclosure. I always wear my shirt untucked, so no one will see my add-on. Problem solved!

Now 4 has saved the day! Thank you 4, you have earned your place in the number line.


2006-11-17 at 7:02 a.m.

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