Monday, November 26, 2012
You know you're middle-aged when it all starts to spread. People aren't kidding when they say it's like holding a flame near a wax candle and watching the effect. All over.
I mean honestly. Today I wore a white blouse to work, that I haven't been able to wear for about eight years, and the blouse fits ok. But . . . it's rather short and my skirt (which was too tight when I was on holiday in France) is slipping down, and so there was a bit of a gap at times.
Draughty, darlings, draughty.
So there I was clutching my middle region rather self-consciously. I mean, my gut is MUCH smaller than it was a few months ago, but it's not what you would call a thing of beauty. By definition a gut isn't, is it? It's . . . well, it's a gut. And in the case of mine, it's sort of deflated rather than reduced in size. It's all there still but there's less of me filling it out than there used to be.
I used to think that the term 'middle-aged spread' referred to weight GAIN but now I'm not sure. Now I think it's possibly the habit that whatever you've got just . . . reaches further. Side to side. Top to bottom (don't even get me started on my bottom). A few years ago one of my colleagues suggested I needed a bodyshaper which is what my mother would call a girdle. I thought that was the single nastiest comment anyone had ever made about my fat. She must have thought that one out with both hands for a fortnight.
It's a good thing she can't see my now, that's all I can say. She'd probably go out and buy me one for Christmas.
Anyone mentions bodyshapers to me, they get my halo wrapped round their chops.
I've been properly on track today for the first time in a week.