The thing about a byline photo like the one above is that you really haven’t a clue what shape my body is. I’m not one of those morbidly obese people who need a fire engine to come to take them to the supermarket, and neither does my torso resemble that of Kate Moss and her ilk. I am, like most of the population, probably slightly plumper than I should be but have yet to have a lecture from the doctor.
For those times when I can’t let a pie go by then it’s the size 16 clothes in my wardrobe that I reach for in the morning. At present, due to the i-lipo treatments from the Beauty Room in Stockbridge, as well as eating slightly more healthily, I’m a size smaller.
However, whilst I know exactly what size I am, different shops have quite different ideas. In Zara I have difficulty getting into an XL. I mean what planet do their designers inhabit? Wherever it is I can tell you that any woman with curves who lives there will be in a continual state of depression.
At the other end of the scale, Marks and Spencer, perhaps in a bid to uplift the spirits of the female population, seems to make everything a size larger than the label suggests. I’m not saying this is a bad thing, although they don’t seem to have the same measuring tape at each sewing machine.
The slimmer me can usually get into a pair of size 12 jeans, although each style seems to fluctuate so that it is impossible to do as I used to do, which is grab something I like the look of, take it home and know it will fit.
I recently bought a new pair of jeans and by the end of the day, when they had loosened a little, I could actually pull the waistband out a couple of inches from my midrift, somewhat like the “after” shots that you see on the WeightWatchers advertisements.
So what’s the problem you may wonder? Well, the thing is, if I start to think I’m a size 10 I’ll probably start nibbling on some pies.