I am still losing weight but so slowly now that I’m bored by the scales and I imagine that they, in return are bored by me. I’m apparently unable to diet properly although I am constantly expecting to do a big push soon, tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow seems like a plan. I am, for the most part, sticking with relatively good eating and exercising habits though.
To replace the excitement of watching the scales showing a loss, I now try on clothes to see how they fit. I tried on a black shirt dress recently that I bought 3 years ago at which point it didn’t fit. I didn’t return it because I loved it so much. People who know me may well be rolling their eyes while asking how many black shirt dresses one woman really needs. To those people I say…..sod off. Anyhow this gorgeous dress now fits a treat, I even felt that I looked rather saucy in it and there is no photographic evidence to suggest otherwise thankfully.
I’ve had significant wins with clothes that had become too small, or, more correctly, clothes that I had grown to big for. Shrinking to fit them again is a joy.
The next item I would like to fit is a green dress I bought without trying on. I purchased it to calm myself after an extended hospital visit with Cornflake almost two years ago. He was due to have stents fitted, we arrived at the hospital at 6.30am, he was prepped, informed of potential imminent death etc. I sat waiting until the afternoon. I saw the results of other waiting loved ones getting varying degrees of bad news. When I was eventually called through the news was that at the last minute the decision was made that no stents were needed, bit of medication only. The best news. Cornflake was obviously delighted, he suggested I could go home although he had to stay for a couple more hours due to the full prep. I left. Outside I started crying with relief from a fear that had been present but not expressed. I got on the first bus that came just to get off the street. As if by magic the bus stopped outside my favourite clothes shop on Regents Street. I bought the green dress.
I didn’t attempt to wear it for sometime. Cornflake was away and I was off to the theatre with Marmalade. I threw it on over my head and it got stuck. I could neither get it on or get it off. I panicked. No help at hand. It was too well made to rip. I considered cutting it off but my arms were so oddly angled, how would I hold scissors? Find scissors? Even if I could, that wasn’t going to work without a hair cut simultaneously.. Eventually by some miracle I was out of it, hot, sweaty, red, missing swathes of makeup and potentially late. I patched myself up, popped on one of my many black shirt dresses, got there on time, the play was good….but the experience has scarred me. I’m green dress nervous, forever probably. I can get it on and indeed off quite easily now, but the the upper sleeve is still uncomfortably tight. I’m finding it hard to gauge upper arm fat, it was one of the more recent places my body found to store extra chub. As I’m writing I’m thinking that this all sounds a bit like hard work, I might opt for a trip to the charity shop. I’ll replace this problem item altogether with the a broiderie anglaise top that I purchased at funeral weight. ( see post, 3 pairs of shoes and a bottle of baileys) I’m very keen to get into that also, that can be my next goal garment.
This random clothing gauge is a more complicated approach to judging weight loss than simply weighing, but it registers those inches lost due to exercise too, it’s more immediate and it’s holding my interest for a moment so let’s just go with it people.
fat tart 