The sun was out today, hip hip hooray! It was a day that I should have spent at work. I was on the way, packed lunch and cup in the bag with e-ciggie at the ready in case the day turned out to be stressful. It can with my job because I never know who I’ll be looking after. Anyway, the journey which in hindsight I should have twigged when I was told where it was, (the other side of town), was taking an age. I’d been on the road for a good 20 minutes and I’d only traveled a mile. The journey, if I had have completed it, would have taken me at least an hour, a bloody hour to travel 5 miles!.
Back to the story; after 20 minutes I received a phone call from my agency telling me that the person I was covering turned up, therefore, I wasn’t needed; they were sorry about this and asked me to go enjoy the sunshine, minus 60 quid. When I stopped the call, (on speaker phone), I whooped with joy, indicated left and got out of the line of horrendous traffic.
So I had my mind set on cleaning up, mowing the grass front and back, and popping into town to pay some money into the bank. When I got home, my heart sank as I took off my work clothes and opened my wardrobe for some summer clothes. In England, because we have such shite weather for about 8 months of the year, people, in general, have a good supply of winter woolies, boots, leggings, jeans, thick coats, gloves, and cardies. When the sun’s in the sky, we come to the realisation with a heavy heart, that we actually haven’t got much in the way of summer clothes and then try and fit in what we had last year and sit on the edge of the bed in a shaking rage because it’s all too tight.
I put a top on and yanked it off in distress. Nearly everything of my meagre amount of light fitting clothes was too small. I’ve put on so much weight I had tears in my eyes. It’s the rolls that I cannot contend with. I struggle anyway with tops because I have big boobs, but then the tummy doesn’t help, and my summer dress was too tight.
So, I put on what I can just about get into and go into town. And then I notice, apart from the odd stick walking down the street, that lots of other women seem to be in the same boat as me with the same flabby arms, love handles and fat arses ( well mine is). I would never ever wear shorts but some do, even if they are quite chunky and they just don’t care and I really admire that in people. They just don’t give a shit. The problem is though that I do!!! but I only came to that conclusion after I’d had a glass of beer in a lovely pub garden.
So the salad has been consumed today, with tinned peaches, no bread, no cake, no sweets and lots of water.
Wish me well x
Signed… The Fatty!