The girl is getting fat …

This week I have discovered that I am NOT a size 12.

It has taken me some time to admit this to myself and it has come at some considerable cost.

I am what is generally known in dieting circles as a yo-yo dieter. I have no clear plan that I follow and no rules about what I can and can’t eat. I eat what I like, when I like. Sadly, I pay the price for this lackadaisical approach to eating, as I am not one of those people who can eat what I like when I like, without putting on a few pounds. Sometimes this bothers me and sometimes it doesn’t.

At the moment it bothers me.

It bothers me because the Christmas Party is looming.

However, since the fling with Ivy has fizzled out I have had absolutely no interest in dating. This is dangerous as it means only one thing, it is Winter, the evenings are cold and dark, I will not be getting my arse out for someone new, anytime soon. Therefore, I can stuff my face full of food at every given opportunity. After all, Tis the season to… eat cake, biscuits, chocolate, cheese or anything really that comes in an easy to open packet and can be consumed in large quantities, while sitting on the sofa… and I have, happily.

I have also spent the last week or so buying dresses for the Christmas Party, all of which are now for sale again on eBay!

It all began with a nice little black dress I purchased second-hand on eBay. I wasn’t going to buy a new dress you see, but every now then I do love a browse on eBay to see if I can find any bargains. During a late night browsing session, I came across a lovely black velvet dress, it was a little bit Jessica Rabbit, but with a netted neckline and long sleeves, I kept an eye on it and at the last-minute bagged it for under £10, a complete steal!

It came. It looked awful. I put it back on eBay.

Next, I tried a beautiful looking French Connection dress, again purchased on eBay. This was a more classic design, again in a size 12. Unfortunately, it hardly went over my head and when I did managed to wiggle it down a bit further it remained stuck, somewhere between my neck and shoulders for quite sometime. Hoping about half-naked with a dress wrapped around my head, I had to wait be rescued by Elsie before I gasped my last breath, or ripped it to shreds out of sheer frustration. After that came another pretty velvet dress, blue this time and although it was supposed to be figure hugging, I think you are supposed to be able to sit down without feeling like the sides will split wide open and your body will spill out all over the table, putting everyone off their turkey dinner.

One big old bird at Christmas is quite enough.

Becomingly increasingly fed-up but not entirely put-off, I made what is now going to be my last attempt at finding a dress for the Christmas Party. This was to be the nail in the coffin.

I decided sequins were the answer. I amaze myself sometimes!

Staring at my sausage-shaped body which I had, with some considerable effort I might add, squeezed in to a stunning blue sequin dress, which looked beautiful in the picture but not so beautiful clinging to my cardboard cut out frame, I was trying to decide what was wrong with the image in front of me? Who am I kidding? There was an awful lot wrong with the image in front of me, my problem was not finding THE problem it was deciding which one to deal with first.

The fact that I looked ridiculous, or that it was too short, I am only a freckle past 5ft. It was too sparkly, especially for someone my age. It was also far too bloody tight. If it was red I could have made a fiver on leaving the Christmas Party, maybe? You are are always lead to believe that people who pay for sex are not that fussy about where they get it from, but surely you would be fussier if you were paying for it?

Aaanyway… I looked like I had been spray painted with a tube of bright blue glitter by a five-year old.

It was however, a lovely very pretty dress for someone half my age, or even someone of my age who wasn’t built like a sausage.

One day in the not too distant future, like now, I am going to have to admit to myself that I am no longer in my twenties, or even thirties for that matter. I keep having to remind myself that I am nearly 50 and while 50 may be the new forty, blah blah, I do not look like Claudia Schiffer and while she might get away with it at her age (which according to Wikipedia is actually older than me) because she is still the size of a pencil, I certainly won’t.

Now, as you may recall this is the FOURTH dress I have bought for the Christmas Party and the FOURTH dress that DOESN’T fit.

So as I stare in horror at myself in the mirror (giving myself a good talking to, a whole other issue and one I do frequently, who else am I going to rant at), it hits me. I am quite clearly NOT a size bloody 12!

Four dresses later, the realisation hits that the weight I lost quite rapidly, while worrying about getting by bits out, has clung back on to my thighs and various others parts of me with grim determintation, now that it knows I am no longer dating. My body has it’s freedom back. Freedom to grow and spread its butt and it is making the most of it.

The worst part is that while I have sat here late again on a Saturday night preparing this post (I can see this is going to become a sad habit), I have mostly been eating!

I know that in January when I decide, along with 16 million others, that now is the time to embrace a new me, that new me is going to regret these food filled evenings sat chewing my way through the kitchen cupboards. Does that put me off? No! Not in the slightest.

In January of course I will be moaning non-stop about it, to anyone that will listen. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

The four dresses are now all back on eBay, it is unlikely they will sell again now it is too close to Christmas, most Christmas Parties are happening and most people are a sight more organised than me with their shopping. This just makes me want to swear, a lot. So after all that it was a complete waste of time and money. I will spend the next week making myself feel bad for wasting the money and being so idiotic as to think that buying everything second-hand from eBay is the answer to everything and knowing I will probably do exactly the same thing next year.

Usually I am much more sensible with my shopping. Elsie calls it tight, I call it sensible. I hate shopping and I especially hate buying clothes. I never buy anything that is not something I know will suit me, hence why my wardrobe is mostly filled with the same things, same styles, things I know I like.

So it looks like I will be wearing an old favourite to the Christmas Party. Providing I don’t eat my way through my wardrobe next.

If I carry on in this fashion, I will be the goose at Christmas and I will probably not be getting stuffed!

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