Just call me Captain Tightpants

My husband has informed me that I can no longer pull off leather pants. He'll probably argue this point, yelp that "NOBODY wears leather pants anymore" or some such nonsense. Of course people wear leather pants. Sexy people. Models. Granted, leather pants were more suited to my former life - the one where I dated over-the-hill wannabees and lived in LA - and, no, I haven't been able to squeeze myself in them without my belly doing the smooshy pooch over the waistband but still! I want to be someone who can pull them off. Frances McDormand still rocks the leathers and she's... however old. It's always freaky when you hit those milestones, and I'm not talking the usuals: 21, baby, marriage. The ones where you realize perhaps you're no longer the target audience for Jane magazine (although you're a die-hard reader). Or the first time you get called "ma'am". Pretty soon it'll be that first AARP magazine. (It's not that far away, kids!)

Feel free to contribute.

I'm off to babysit the baby. Safe to say I won't have to do much.