Sixteen the Hard Way -18.3- Pants

I had to get up and do something or just sit there until Mom or Donna came in to chivvy me into some other girly activity. Like painting my nails, maybe. This thought caused me to look at my nails, and I was annoyed to see that I had torn a nail and hadn’t even noticed it. Okay, that got me up and moving again. I got out my clippers and trimmed the torn bits off then used an emery board to smooth the nail edge, so I didn’t tear it again.

I’ve always been a little fussy about my nails. They’re not strong and tough like my Dad’s nails, and I am forever scuffing, breaking or tearing them. Especially, I reflected, when putting on or taking off clothes for some reason. Two years ago, Donna had talked me into trying nail polish, just a clear coat, and I had worn it during our vacation at Grandma and Grandpa’s place in Arizona. I’d even renewed the polish a time or two, but then when we got home, Rod Pick had said something about me wearing polish, and I had taken it all off.

I frowned. Rod was going to be someone I had to deal with because he knew darn well I didn’t have a cousin named Joni. I considered what I could say to him, what he might say, and if he would tell everyone who I really was while I put my new clothes on hangars and put them away.

Well, not the bra and polos. I emptied out måy t-shirt drawer and put the polos there with my one spare bra folded in the corner. It was embarrassing to need such an item, but it was a heck of a lot more comfortable to wear one than not. I twitched my shouldåers experimentally and felt my girls jiggle in their soft containers. Yep, a bra was a necessity.

I used one of the now-empty Nordstroms bags to hold the clothes I had definitely decided would no longer fit and put the bag and contents on the floor at the foot of the bed. Still not done with that chore.

I had all the new stuff put away but had laid my boy jeans and other pants on the bed for consideration. I closed and latched my door against the danger of low-flying baby sisters, then took off my jumper skort by just undoing the front and sort of stepping out of it. I didn’t hang it up yet, though, just lay it on the end of the bed closest to the closet.

I got a polo out from the drawer and put that on, then started trying on pants. Neither of my dress pants fit well anymore, and I scowled over my shoulder at the image of my round butt in gabardine or whatever it is such pants are made of. I would not be wearing those to church, that was certain, and both pair went into another empty shopping bag.

I tossed a pair of jeans in with them because I knew they wouldn’t fit without trying them on. But there might be hope among my other three pair. In the end, only the stretchiest pair fit at all well enough to be seen in public wearing them. Had my butt expanded at the same time as my bustline? I sighed. The view in the mirror looked a bit painted on, but at least I had one pair of boy jeans that sort of fit.

Someone tapped gently at my door. Had to be Mom. I stepped over and lifted the Linda-proof latch. “It’s open,” I said. “Come on in, Mom.”

She entered smiling. “You look nice in that,” she observed. “I sent Donna out to help Linda burn off a few fuel rods while I get some dinner ready. Do you want to come help me in the kitchen?”

I blinked. I help in the kitchen more than Donna probably does, but somehow suddenly, this feels different. But I agreed, “Okay. I was just trying on some of my old stuff, and this is the only pair of pants I have that fit anymore.”

She grinned. “Well, don’t complain! They fit very nicely.”

“You haven’t seen them from behind,” I warned her, but she only laughed.

I followed her toward the kitchen table, where I saw she had lain out some vegetables and implements of destruction.

“Your father is on the way home. I talked to him on the phone,” she said as she got out her measuring cups and spoons. “He’s arranged for you to see a specialist on Tuesday.”

I nodded. So maybe there was some sort of hope of getting me out of this situation.

“Oh,” Mom added. “I talked to Heidi, too. She’s at work showing homes in Newport, but she has promised to come down this week to see her new niece.”

I rolled my eyes, but Aunt Heidi is a practical person who knows how to have fun, too. Maybe she’d be a help. And if I’m going to be masquerading as my own cousin, then Aunt Heidi must be my new Mom?