This is tragic

Oh no, I just read this article from the New York Times, "In Changing Harlem, Soul Food Struggles." This is tragic. I'm battling my desire to fit into my pants and this battle cry I hear to single-handedly try to stem the exodus of soul food from uptown.

I'm not joking about the pants, either. Summer of 2005, I spent a month in Florence and two in Paris. In the process, I must have gained 15 pounds. When I came back, I could only fit into pants with elastic and this one pair of jeans that thankfully had 2% lycra in the fiber blend. I refused to buy fat clothes because I knew that then it would be over, and it'd be muffin-top all the way until I hit the grave. It took me a bloody year to lose the weight, and at the end of it not only was I able to revisit the rest of the pants in my closet, I managed to cram myself for a wedding in a black formal gown I purchased in college. We won't focus on the fact that at the end of that night, when I peeled of said dress, all down my left side was a clear imprint of the zipper, pressure tattooed into my flesh. Sexy yes?

So back to Harlem, I can't believe I missed out on pig tail stew. Augh!