"Even if I got rid of all my problems, I'd just go out and get new ones..."

Insecurities and a clothing crisis
7:04 p.m. on 2005-10-30

Urgh. I'm having a 'fat' day.

I'm 5"3', and weigh between 8.5 and 9 stone - perfect weight for my height. I'm not fat, and I know this - no matter how many times I might look in a changing room mirror, under those unflattering, strong lights (which I don't understand, because surely a shop should use soft lighting to sell more clothes!), and think 'god, I need to lose some weight' - I don't really mean it. Not really.

I eat large portions, true, and I probably eat more processed food than I should. But I eat a reasonable amount of fruit and veg, I hardly ever eat fast food, I don't drink, and by walking back and forth to work every day I achieve my minimum amount of exercise and more.

But today I was close to crying. It was annual, guilt-fuelled spring clean day, going through my wardrobe, clearing out the crap and deciding, no, that *really* doesn't suit me anymore. I don't mind that the jeans I bought post-South America will no longer stretch over my thighs. I figure, I bought them after 3 months of healthy living, and they were tight then. I don't mind that my little red dress shows a little VPL because, hey, I have an office job, and a pair of French Fancies will cover that slightly wobbly ass up.

But my red skirt... my beautiful red skirt... my red French skirt that I adore...

It's tight. Uncomfortably so. Unattractively so. Six months ago I would have slipped into it without a problem but now it stretches across my upper thighs and gives me unflattering love handles that wouldn't normally appear.

And I love this skirt. It sits nicely on the hips, it's a beautiful colour, it just brushes my toes at the hem - I love it. I look good in it, dammit!

Make that past tense.

Sigh. So... fat day.

I can reason with myself that it's as a result of the walking - it's not that I've gained weight per se, it's that some of the fat on my thighs and butt has turned into muscle, and that bulge above my knees has simply moved upwards.

I can watch Strictly Come Dancing and think, yeah, sure, I'd love to have legs like those dancers, but I'd rather eat chocolate whenever I want, and not have to exercise for six hours a day.

But I really love that skirt. I tried it on, made faces, ripped it off and folded it back up, burying it into my wardrobe.

Maybe if I do more swimming, and go for walks in my lunch hour, and replace that chocolate bar with an apple, by next summer I'll fit it easily.

Right?

Oh, sod this, I'm going to eat cake.

Listening to: Gorillaz "Dirty Harry"

Quote: "I'll be Admiral Finch from the 58th Flotilla, and you'll be Lady Constantina, my real estate agent and we'll promenade around the neighborhood delighting both young and old alike with our saucy banter."

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