Its more a case of value for money than vanity, to be honest, me and this whole weightlosingey thing.
Ive always known that the whole buying clothes without trying them on thing is A Flaw, and that being too scared to take things back and too lazy to sell things is A Mistake, but that doesnt change the fact that my wardrobe overflows with clothes in the Well-I-may-be-thin-enough-to-wear-them-one-day drawer/trunk/cupboard/room.
So the tipping point were the trousers. Was the trousers. Were the trouser. The tipping point/trousers.
Two pairs, I bought, and, getting them home, realised that Id just spent another not-saying-how much on the worlds most expensive drawer liners. Lying down, I could fit one leg a while of the way in, while the other leg cowered quietly, backing away and pleading claustrophobia.
Lying on the floor, minutes later, I watched the trousers through a very thick film of tears as they lay there, twined together, giggling in an almost inaudibly denimmy way.
Thats it, I thought.
Im going to get into these trousers if it kills me – how bad can it be? – theyre only a size smaller than I am now, and the jeans I have now are falling off, so it would seem to follow that with a little tiny bit of effort, I will slip into these trousers. No problem, I thought. This will be easy, I thought.
I had forgotten to take one thing into consideration.
The trousers, they hate me.
I have been regularly gymming and eating like a weight-watching winkle for several months. I can fit into a lot of other clothes that I havent fited into for ages, Ive bought tops, troos and dresses of sizes I would never even have considered a couple of months ago (or if I had considered them, I would have simply picked them off the rail, bought them, and placed them carrierbagged in my wardrobe, as there wasnt going to be any remote chance of me fitting into them any time soon. Or so I thought), in fact, I have shed so many pounds that people are almost constantly telling me how nice my hair looks.
[This is a fact that probably deserves its own post, but the fact is that when you lose weight, people dont seem to notice. Or at least, they dont know what theyre noticing. They can tell *something* is different, but they dont know what. So Ive been told I have great hair more times in the last few weeks than possibly ever before. The remarkable thing about this is that I have terrible hair at the moment. The fools.]
Which would all be well and good and happy happy joy joy, apart from the fact of the trousers.
I cant. Fit. Into the trousers.
Im beginning to think Ill never fit into the trousers, or at least may starve to death trying. No matter how much weight I lose, how many muscles I tone, the trousers are remaining solidly, resolutely FAR TOO SMALL. And never seeming to get any more in the realm of reachable.
My theories are these:
1) Though stating their theoretical size on the label – and from a shop where I have bought many many other clothes and cannot therefore blame erroneous labelling practice – I believe these might be what are termed Skinny fit jeans. In which case I must say that the very idea of selling Skinny fit cut Anything in a fat-lady department is cruel and inhuman and should be banned, like bear-baiting and the popular beat combo Muse.
2) There is a slow drip of cold water in the left hand side of my third drawer, causing shrinkage. As I can find no clear root of water, such as a pipe, I can only imagine that the cold water is coming from an ice cap, which is slowly melting. I blame Al Gore, though Im not entirely sure why.
c) Someone – be it mischevous elves, the bullies from third year secondary, or Society – is sneaking to my bedroom at night, and changing my should-fit trousers for non-fit ones. I have been looking into some kind of technology to prevent Society from sneaking into my house at night and erarranging my drawers, but apparently any attempts I could make might officially border on Anti-Social behaviour.
4) Every time you walk though reception at the gym, the Sticks who run the place have engineered it so that moving through the turnstile applies a thin, almost imperceptible layer of doughnut to your bottom as you depart.
This ensures that your confidence will never rise too high, you will never get your goaltrousers on, and you will keep giving them money.
As a marketing strategy, it borders on genius.
v) The trousers. They hate me.