STRANGER THAN FICTION: WHO WEARS THE PANTS AROUND HERE?

As part of my personal therapy and progression toward wellness, I'm forcing you to share in the pain of my circumference.

Thursday was Take Our Daughters to Work Day, and the surgical nurses had 10 girls touring the hospital that morning. I was doing a story about it and had to follow the group into an operating room, which meant changing into scrubs.

Nurse Laura asked a doctor to get a clean jumpsuit for me. I mentioned that it should be "the biggest pair you have in there."

He came back, handed me a blue jumpsuit and sent me into a restroom. I couldn't get the jumpsuit over my thighs.

The tag said "Medium." This is why men are so lousy at picking out lingerie for their wives. I haven't worn a medium since the second grade.

Laura went back for reinforcements. She returned with a pair of "Extra Large" pants and a separate top.

I had better luck with those, being able to pull them all the way to mid-butt. The shirt covered the four-inch gap between where the pants were and where they should have been.

Laura noticed my plight. I assured her that I'd be fine as long as I didn't bend over or sit down. She insisted on getting some scrubs from Dr. Thorpe, apparently the only person on staff as large as I am. Dr. Thorpe's scrubs are so top secret he keeps them locked in his locker.

I've never seen Dr. Thorpe, but he's the man for me. We could spend the vast amounts of money he earns as a surgeon on BIG PANTS!

Laura didn't break into the locker, and I managed to stay decent by shuffling along in my shoe covers, taking very small steps. The hairnet and surgical mask only added to my unique look.

I didn't eat for the rest of the day.

---

The Other Half and I will celebrate our one-year anniversary tomorrow.

His cousin was in Taco Bell the other day. "You always pick on him," she told me. "Doesn't he do anything right?"

Truth is, he does a lot right. It just isn't funny to sit down every week and write "my life is wonderful and my husband is the best breadwinner, lover, car repairman, housekeeper, therapist and friend a girl could want."

Also, it is a lie.

The thing is, it's just so easy to pick men as a target when the column ideas aren't coming. They're good for anything from the whole not-hitting-the-toilet deal to the old-girlfriends-calling deal.

But Mr. Half puts up with a lot out of me. If he wrote a column, it would probably have something in it about the other night. I was home alone at 12:30 a.m. for the second night in a row because he was working late for the second night in a row.

I did the logical thing -- called and picked a fight.

"You don't care about me," I whined. "All you care about is work, work, work. I might as well be out at the bars. You wouldn't care."

Ouch. Below the belt.

"Heidi, we're not going to have this conversation," he said. "I love you, I care about you, and I'll be home when my work is done. Go to sleep."

Now that's a great man. Firm, yet calm and understanding. I told my buddy Olivia about the incident the next day.

"Why do women do stuff like that?" I asked.

"We're stupid," she said.

So I'd like to make up for a few things and publicly thank Mr. Half for:

-- Marrying me anyway, although I gained three dress sizes in the three years between our first date and our wedding day.

-- Cheering me on through every lost pound this last month and taking the chocolate bunny out of my mouth.

-- Putting up with my PMS-induced mood swings, including talking me down from: quitting my job, smacking the rude clerk in Famous, kidnapping Bob Dole before he takes over the country, etc.

-- Filling in for my mother and sisters when they silently slipped out of my life.

You're the best, Jamie. Don't let anyone tell you anything different.

~Heidi Nieland is a staff writer for the Southeast Missourian.

COLUMN DAYS TO CHANGE

Heidi Nieland's column will switch from Saturdays to Wednesdays beginning May 1. Marc Powers' column will regularly appear on Saturdays.