Manolo says, it is Wednesday morning and you were up and out the door early. Ayyy! Too early this morning, you put on your jogging clothing (retrieved from the back of the closet where they had been collecting mildew) strapped your running shoes (from Millets) onto your feets, and went out for the early morning jog.
It was just you and the other crazy peoples who like to stumble around the neighborhood at six in the morning, breathing heavily, sweating profusely, and softly cursing humanity under your breaths. (It was only your moderate speed, those mildewed jogging clothes, and the lack of the shopping cart that distinguished you from the homeless lady who lives under the bridge.)
Normally, you would not subject yourself to such indignities. Normally, your twice weekly visit to the YMCA, where you are tortured by the chipper, ultra-toned, blonde sociopath who runs your TaiBoBodyZumbaSculpt class, would be enough to keep things where they belong. Or so you think.
But, then yesterday morning, your husband reminded you that there were only six weeks left until your high school reunion, which sounds innocuous enough, except when he said this you were trying to button up your grey slacks, which seem, you were telling yourself at the time, to have shrunk at the dry cleaners.
It was not exactly the “does my buttocks look big in this” moment, but close, and worse, because you could not honestly direct your anger at your husband, you were forced to take responsibility for your own buttocks.
Hence, the 6AM jogging mania.
And now you are sore, but filled with that enormous sense of righteous self-satisfaction that accrues to those who have jogged first thing in the morning.
The Naiya from Brian Atwood, black silk crepe de chine with gold heels and accents, equals “the classy.”