I'm wearing jeans at work today.
I didn't set out to violate the newsroom's dress code, but I'm doing it anyway.
Things here at the paper are much less formal than they used to be. When I was hired 11 years ago, all the guys wore long-sleeved dress shirts and ties, even in the heat of the summer. Not such a bad thing if you're staying inside all day, but I went through shirts like tissue paper during the summers, sweating through them as I pounded the pavement on one crime story after another.
A few years back, the dress code relaxed a bit. We are allowed to wear polo shirts. The bosses dropped the tie requirement, although we're supposed to wear them when it's appropriate, of course.
But jeans still aren't accepted, at least on the news side.
Today I didn't have much choice.
Back in April, when I started this project, I was having a hard time fitting in my pants. I never wear tight clothing, but my trousers weren't very loose any more. My favorite khakis got moved into the back of the closet. My jeans didn't fit.
I bought several new pairs of pants, but none of them felt right, either.
Everything was uncomfortable.
This morning I weighed in again. I lost another pound. I'm down to 279, a total drop so far of 28 pounds.
To be honest, I don't see a difference. When I look in the mirror, I still look just as fat — to me, anyway — as before. But to paraphrase Shakira, pants don't lie. And those pants I'd moved into the back of the closet because I couldn't fit in them anymore? They're getting too big.