wearing wiffy's pants

I got up a little early and hadn't set anything out and I didn't want to wake her, so I grabbed these jeans out of the laundry basket and I thought I'd see if I could squinch into them, and lo and behold I can, and they look and feel great. I know they aren't mine. I know they will not become mine. But it's kind of amazing to have these things on, really.

I tend to look at my Frau as thin, or lanky, or svelte. She's shaped very differently than I am, and many things that she wears won't get over my thighs...

So it's that thing about projection-- we tend to see our sig-figs as having something we don't-- be it an attractive body, or fitness, or youth, or a certain type of beauty.

Wearing wiffy's pants deconstructs one of those projections. It tells me that despite how I might see myself, I am something else entirely. I am that thing I idolize, long for, hold as some ideal.

The call is coming from inside the house-- the delicious booty is mine!