I am there, at that point in your life that you never anticipated would happen to you. There. For me it happened at 10.45am on Saturday 30th June. In Debenhams. Auspicious.
I was trying on dresses for the WEDDING OF THE YEAR. A pretty one fitted. A size 16, from Coast (I am choosing to believe that Coast does NOT employ vanity sizing and thus the voice in my head has already decreed it a 14 and so you can see how I've got into this physical mess). I came out of the changing room and got an approving nod from my husband- it might have been an involuntary tick or a spasm but I have to take compliments where I can. The 6 year old sales assistant beamed (she smelt a sale) and then uttered the words, "It makes you look really young"
There. That was it. The transition into new territory.
Old bat-ishness.
In her little teenage world, she clearly believed that this was the validation I had been searching for, the answer to my elderly prayers, the pinnacle of my middle aged aspirations. It is not. I had been hoping for 'slim' or 'bang on trend' or even a cheeky 'classy'.
I had not actually felt the absence of any youth in my appearance and thus had absolutely no idea that my clothing choices now need to combat YET ANOTHER flaw. It would seem that I now need clothes which can now slim, lengthen AND de-old bat me.........jeeeeesus. My eye twitched and my jaw clenched. The toddler sales-assistant scuttled off.
I got the phone out of my bag and rang my friend the hairdresser. Immediate action required. The result? I am now in possession of dyed hair for the first time in my (ginger) life. The grey is gone. The sad news however is that the titian glow I was hoping for is actually more thermonuclear ginge than I had anticipated........my clothing choices are now further inhibited by the need to detract from my hair colour in addition to slimming and de-old batting.......aces. Looking guuuuuuuuuud.
Sooooooo, changing room humiliation aside, I now own some new outfits, including (drum roll please) a pair of SIZE 14 TROUSERS!!!! Yep, size 14. Word.
It has been an interesting week however on a more fundamental, biological level. I have been back to my very lovely nutritionist and some interesting developments have er, developed. Because I take antibiotics every day (for rubbish skin immunity) and have done for years, a lot of good bacteria is being killed off within my poor, elderly carcass. Consequently, I am missing some crucial bacteria and my digestion is a mess. The solution? Kill off the little feckers by starving them of sugar. And yeasts. And vinegars. I am also highly likely to be wheat intolerant. I am also a bit wobbly on dairy, according to the results.........In one swift sweep I am one of THOSE people.....I have dietary requirements.......I can no longer hit 'all you can eat' buffets with the recklessness of the Jackass crew......I am reading food labels........I am boring myself. I know many people who claim to be 'allergic' to things.....I am one of them. Forgive me father for I have sinned.....
1) At Uni I claimed I was allergic to garlic. This is not the case. The truth is that the halls of residence cooks, in their own private crusade for virtue and abstinence, would serve up garlic pasta every Wednesday night......"Roxy" night.....pulling night. In order to avoid smelling like the bride of Dracula, I told them that I was allergic to garlic. The kind old dears duly provided me with a less man-repelling alternative........it made little difference to my pulling ability. The sad truth was that as every lad in halls HAD eaten the garlic pasta, I got a second hand dose........delightful.
2) Alcohol. At the age of 14, I was introduced to 20/20 by my boyfriend and his older mates. Two swigs and I fell off the park bench and the rest of that week is a blur. A few weeks later, I met Hoopers Hooch. Two swigs later and I was thrown out of a pub. "Two Dogs" followed.........my boyfriend had to carry me unconscious through a park in Cirencester after a mouthful. This pattern continued. I also saw no improvement in the taste of alcohol- regardless of what it's mixed with, it tastes like Tip-Ex and vomit and how people can drink it in pints is BEYOND me. I would be drunk for DAYS after only a mouthful or two. This seemed a bit odd. At the tender age of 15, after some unfortunate incidents. I swore off the booze and have been TeeTotal since then. Even as an adult, a decent quality brandy butter at Christmas can result in my having to be put to bed and we won't mention the unfortunate 'liquor chocolates won in the Christmas raffle' debacle of '95 but that wasn't pretty. Lightweight does not even BEGIN to cover it. Tee-total was the only way forward and has been so to date. Years ago, I mentioned this in passing to a doctor during a conversation about the hyperactivity I'd experienced after a packet of Skittles (not so much 'taste the rainbow' as 'high enough to reach the rainbow'). They thought that perhaps I am missing an enzyme that breaks down alcohol and some other sugars- apparently it's common in Asian men which is a commonality I had not anticipated. Never been tested, never had it confirmed but I will merrily tell people that I am allergic to alcohol. Rumbled. Well, it's more exciting that recanting the bloody Two Dogs stories isn't it?!
SO when people tell me that they are 'allergic' to things (other than peanuts- that shit is scary), I raise an eyebrow and mentally say 'Garlic pasta'. The truth is that for 90% of them, the reality is that whatever they are 'allergic' to actually just gives them wind, a slightly sick feeling or the trots.......c'mon folks, fess up......this is not an allergy, this is 'intolerance'. If I ever claim that I am allergic to anything, slap me. Let us allow those poor, poor buggers with PROPER allergies or Coeliac Disease to claim that title as their own (frankly, they are more than entitled to). For the rest of us, it's a quick trip to the loo and a bit of a bloat.
In amongst this digestive gloom and humiliation however have been some distractions. The Costume Ball that I started off wanting to 'slim down' for at the start of this journey in January, took place on Saturday. It was fantastic- a fab night dressed as Cinderella with lovely mates. A size 14/16 costume. Two days without the kids was even better- little horrors were delivered to their grandparents on Friday afternoon and not collected until Sunday lunchtime. I barely stopped the engine to drop them off. I didn't even stop for a wee or a drink before heading back. The kids hadn't got their shoes off before I left. The bonnet was still warm...........there may have been some wheelspin as I shot off. IT. WAS. BRILLIANT .
My son has also well and truly entered the 'Terrible Twos' this week, to compound it all. Every parent should be deprecating about their offspring to avoid unnecessarily high self esteem in future life but generally, kind friends and relatives will undo this parental mental abuse by reassuring you that your kids are a delight, that they're marvelous and gorgeous. You know however that your child is the spawn of Satan when workers at the Sure Start centre (kindly souls who work with behavioural problems and families under strain every day) look on slack-jawed as your delightful offspring rampages around the playgroup in a full-blown paddy resulting in 20 minutes of aural torture and eventual eviction. "Crikey, he's got a face on" is all they could splutter as as I dragged him, his scooter and the 3 other kids shame-faced out of the door..........my face matched my new hair..........
For me, this week has been about learning that you are never the person that you think you are. I started the week believing myself to be an overweight, slightly greying but nonetheless sprightly 33 year old who could (and did) eat whatever they wanted whilst squeezing their arse into size 14 trousers. I have ended the week as a neurotic old bat with food label obsessions and a hair colour that can be seen from space. This whole physical reinvention thing is going marvelously well.
Pass me the Hoopers Hooch.
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