My thoughts on a page.

If December was party central, January is definitely hangover hell. While I’m not sitting rocking in a chair crying, I do miss the Christmas happiness and I’m also missing something else, something I’d taken for granted. It disappeared without my even noticing sometime between Christmas and New Year…my waistline!

I first missed it the other day as I walked into my bedroom and caught sight of a most definitely rounder me in the mirror. For a moment I wondered was this my mirror or the cheaper one belonging to my daughter, which tells lies and reflects everyone as a short, dumpy, rotund individual. On closer inspection it was indeed my mirror and that really was me in all my roundness!

“Oh dear” I thought, turning right and left before rolling away to the kitchen. Sitting eating a mince pie, with a tiny bit of cream, I pondered upon what I’d seen. Surely I’d not eaten that much over Christmas? I’d even gone for a long walk one day between Christmas and New Year. Enjoying the last crumb, I gave myself a shake. It must have been the way I was standing!

For a few days I thought no more about it, as I caught up, over tea and cake, with a few friends I’d not seen in a while. “Did you buy anything in the sales?” one friend asked. I explained I was still too deeply traumatised from my days of pre-Christmas shopping to venture near the sales. “Pity, there’s some great bargains.” She proceeded to tell me all that she’d bought and I began to feel a slight healing. By the time we’d finished eating, a miracle had occurred and believe it or not, my post-Christmas shopping stress disorder, was cured. I said goodbye and raced to the shops.

I wanted black jeans. Yes, I had a few pairs already, but they were old. New year, new jeans. Time to look after me. I wandered about searching for them among the left over glam and glitter of Christmas. At last I found a pair with a pretty nice reduction and joy of joys they were my size. It was meant to be!

Normally, because of the effort involved in trying on jeans, I’d arm myself with a full selection, but not today. This pair had my name written all over them. Removing my Dr Marten boots and jeans in such a confined space, was the closest I’d come to a workout in weeks. Conscious of the thin walls either side I did my best to keep my heaving and panting to a minimum. I reached for my new jeans and began to pull them on. I never knew my feet were so big, as I struggled to pull them through the tiny foot holes. Finally, both feet appeared. I paused for a moment of celebration or possibly to catch my breath.

As I tried to hoist them up, it only took a nano second for me to accept this was never going to work. Perhaps I was mistaken and they were three sizes too small? No, right size, but there was another label I’d missed earlier. “Skinny fit”. My heart sank…not for these legs! Huffing and puffing I had to begin peeling those skinny’s off. There was one hairy moment when my foot became crushed. Fearing nerve damage I pulled with all my might until, like the cork on a bottle, my foot sprung out causing me to collapse against the very thin wall.

Exhausted, with a red face more suited to one coming out of the gym, I finally emerged panting, from fitting room hell.

“Would you like to take them?” asked the attendant.

“No thank you,” I smiled, “they make my feet look too big!”

 

photo credit: isfullofcrap edloe_laptop_back via photopin (license)
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