Mo of the rockin Big Fat Deal blog posted a link to Daily Mail article that says, "skinny people are more likely to be unhappy and commit suicide than those who are overweight".
This reminded me of a wintery day in 1999 where I went to see my GP for a check-up and she soon started rattling through a list of depression symptoms.
"Feelings of hopelessness?"
"Loss of appetite?"
And then I got the giggles. I knew that now matter how bleak and lost I felt, I’d never kill myself. Why? Because I was utterly mortified at the thought of a mortician looking my naked 350lb corpse.
That seems so wrong now but it still cracks me up to this day. Sorry. Sorry!
Well kids, last night I spent three hours traipsing up and down the streets of Edinburgh looking for something to wear for this goddamn work Christmas Party. It’s anything goes in terms of wardrobe, so it shouldn’t have been too traumatic. But after three stores I was on the verge of a major freakout and vowed, "If I don’t find something in the next fifteen minutes I am going to devise a violent stomach bug and call in sick tomorrow." Yes! I was fully prepared to waste the money I’d paid for my lunch, stay home and sulk in front of the telly.
I can comfortably wear a UK size 16, which on paper should open up a whole world of new clothes to me. But that doesn’t take into consideration my:
- fear of colour
- fear of fabrics that aren’t forgiving cotton/lycra
- upper arm paranoia
- reluctance to stray from my "Uniform" of 3/4 sleeve tops and flattering trousers
- complete TIGHTARSEDNESS – ie. strong reluctance to fork out for nice new clothes when I am losing weight…and it’s not like I am trying to pick up a hot man at the party, is it?
I thought of What Not To Wear and tried to channel Trinny and Susannah. They are not afraid of fabrics and colour. But they always swan serenely round the stores, they’re not stupid enough to shop the night before a big party, one week before Christmas. They also don’t mind riffling through racks, whereas I stand at the entrance of the store, muttering and moaning, expecting the Ideal Garments to just float towards me like snakes to the snake charmer.
So last night I actually riffled. God it was depressing. There is still too much flimsy gypsy shit out there. I am afraid of floaty fabrics. But I got adventurous in Monsoon and tried a gorgeous floaty-yet-fitted teale-green skirt with lovely swirls. I felt rather sexy, and happy that the size 16 was a little loose around the waist. But I couldn’t justify the price, and then I realised even if I did fork out I’d have to spend another eleven bazillion hours looking for suitably strappy shoes to wear with it.
Oh yeah. My shoe situation is another example of my profound wardrobe neglect. I haven’t bought any new winter shoes for over two years, relying on a pair of crappy black ankle boots, that I keep reviving with heavy layers of boot polish. Shoe shopping is a nightmare for my broad size 8 (size 10 US/AU) hoofs, so last night I decided I must find something that wouldn’t require new shoes. Which ruled out skirts.
Next stop was H&M, my trusty standby. I thought of the time I had my Colours Done, and they told me I was a Warm Autumn, which basically means I look good in poo colours. So I tried on this chocolate brown top, which had a flattering v-neck, and a crossover thingy – which T&S say is great for big-boobed chicks as it divides the Boob Loaf thus avoids the dreaded monoboob. It was also made from cotton-lycra which skimmed over lumpy bits, AND it has that ruching on the stomach which T&S say disguises your rolls. It was quite flattering.
And only ten pounds! That’s even cheap in Australian dollars. Call off the search.
So I decided I’d wear that with some nice wide-leg trousers I’d got at H&M a few weeks ago, then just chuck on some jewellery to make it look more dressy. I spent twenty minutes looking for a new necklace before I got crowd-o-phobic, (what’s the proper word for that?!) ran screaming to the train station and went home.
Now here I am, all dressed up ready for the party in what basically is my Standard Issue Uniform in Brown. But I do feel reasonably attractive! Except for my mascara, which for some reason decided to dry up THIS MORNING so my eyelashes all clumped and twiggy. Oh and my lack of right-ear earring because the hole for some reason decided to completely close up THIS MORNING and no amount of stabbing is helping.
Next year, I will get my shit together. A skirt, a dress, some colour. I will be the belle of the ball. Next year!
UPDATE: It’s now Saturday. The party was good fun, and no one said I looked like a turd. Huzzah!