I am not a naturally thin person. In fact since having a fair chunk of my digestive system removed 10 years ago, I’ve always been well – how can I put this – curvaceous. Anyway, recent events have meant rather dramatic weight loss. As my cousin put it, I look like I’ve been put through a hot wash! So, every cloud has a silver lining and this is no more apparent than when it comes to buying clothes. I went to a party last night and really, honestly had nothing to wear. All my clothes are way too big for me and really are falling off. Ah but clothes shopping, normally an activity filled with dread and loathing.
So off to buy new outfit yesterday. Observations:
- It’s much more fun to buy clothes when you feel you actually might fit into them (although being a short arse with size ginormous boobs still has its challenges).
- I still like black, I’ve always thought it was because it was “slimming” but it turns out my goth roots have never truly been forgotten.
- The same size in different brands is not the same size. For example, yesterday I happily fitted into a size 8 in Warehouse and struggled to do up the zip in a size 12 Jane Norman. So top tip, don’t shop at Jane Norman!
Anway, finally obtained required outfit and the results were surprisingly pleasing. Another interesting observation, although it’s very nice when men pay you compliments, for some reason women paying you compliments is really good, especially when you don’t know them. So I was feeling about 10 foot tall (as opposed to the 5 foot half an inch reality) when I took my jacket off and the girl in the cloakroom complimented my top and then the toilet attendant said my skirt was great.
Okay all rather ridiculous and shallow but a girl’s got to get her kicks somewhere!
I know it’s been ages but life has been a touch hectic. I resigned from my job and am now free from the boss from hell (although can’t say much as he seems to be on a mission to discredit my name, reputation, career and just about everything else). It was all just too much.
In the subsequent couple of weeks the Beloved has become the Loathed and I was feeling quite good about the changes in my life (for once not putting up with other people’s shit). Unfortunately the germs then intervened and the Beloved went from his new Loathed status to Invalid. It all really kicked off last week when we had to call an ambulance and he was rushed through A&E as he was “going septic” (still haven’t worked out exactly what that is, anyone with any clues?). Turns out what I was secretly dismissing as “man flu” and just a way of getting a foot through the door I was trying to slam firmly shut, was actually double pneumonia and a collapsed lung. Oh the joy, not to mention the guilt.
Anyway, he’s still in hospital and – thank goodness – on the mend. Had a particularly nasty turn on Monday though when he passed out and was unconscious for at least 20 minutes. They couldn’t even get a blood pressure for him and – when they did – it was something so measly that a hamster would have struggled. Today though he’s out of isolation and on to general ward. Great news in some respects although mixing with all those sick people can’t be great fun. Plus, of course, the ward has its resident loony. This guy is a touch out of control and apparently last night was smoking on the ward. In itself this is not a great move but when it’s a medical ward and about 75% of the patients are on oxygen, it’s obviously even less of a good idea.
I have to say that for as much as the NHS is maligned (and it’s true the wards are so grubby), when you are sick it is fabulous. I can’t imagine what it would be like to worry about being ill because you can’t afford the treatment or skimping on scans and drugs. Just always remember the antibacterial wipes!
So does the Beloved remain the Loathed? I really don’t know. I have done my level best this week to take care of him, to try and treat him like he is still my husband (which clearly given his behaviour is a debatable point). He has said today that he wants us to try again but I have to say that I’m treating it all with a healthy dose of scepticism. He hasn’t told me the truth for so long I don’t know if he can and I don’t know if I can believe a word he says. I want to. It’s a complete bugger.
So here I am jobless, husband-less, increasingly toothless (well gumless but that’s not really a word). The upside is that I am about a size 8 which I haven’t been for about 10 years!