Z wishfully thinks

I'm going to spend a few days painting (walls, not pictures) this week and I stupidly, when having a turn-out, chucked away the painty clothes I used last time. So I raided a pile of clothes that got put on one side as being rather too old to give to the charity shop but that seemed too good just to bin. Whatever happened to jumble sales? I remembered a pair of jeans that Weeza passed on to me some 15 or more years ago. Well, more. She was still at school. They fit fine, but while I was rootling I found another pair of jeans. I remembered them, because I kept them out of sentiment. When Al was 13 or 14, I grabbed some jeans from the pile that had been brought in from the washing line, put them on and it was only because the legs felt a bit narrower than usual that I checked, and they were his. Although I was quite small at the time, he was slight and skinny and I was astonished that his jeans fitted me.

So, of course, I put them on. I couldn't do them up, but I could pull them up and they weren't tight around the thighs or anything. But the peculiar thing is that, all those years ago, I weighed about a stone less than I do now, and surely it isn't all around my middle?

Anyway, of course, that will now be my yardstick. When those jeans fit and I can fasten them easily, I'll be the size I was (lower half anyway) that I was 18 years ago.