It's official. I'm fat. I've reached a point I'm so uncomfortable with myself I need to do something. I'm still not overweight or anything - I have the voluptuous figure of a woman in an Italian film from the 50's. In her first trimester...
This break-up has not turned out to be a character-building experience- the only way I've grown as a person is around my waist. And the thing is... all this comfort eating isn't actually even providing any comfort!
I've gone on a diet like, five times this week. The longest I managed to stay on one was around 20 minutes. I'm hopeless. One night I got home late but knew I had to get some milk for breakfast the following morning. So I popped into the shop and emerged with milk, yes, but also a 4-pack of meat pies. And I ate every single one of them... Yes. I LITERALLY ATE ALL THE PIES.
We're about a month away from the bikini season. Two months if I'm lucky. For once I'm glad I'm not going to have any holiday from my internship (not that I'd even have any money to go on a holiday, seeing how my internship is an unpaid one...). I really don't want to know what I'd look like in a bikini. And I really don't think anybody else would either.
I know it's not just the break-up. I've steadily been putting on weight throughout the relationship with The Man. Which is something he, a man of few words with some serious difficulties with voicing his feelings, surprisingly had no problem pointing out. People, glass houses, stones, anyone? When we met I was recovering from the latest bout of anorexia. He was already...well, big. Over the next 6,5 years I discovered my love of cooking and we spent countless hours over lunches and dinners and consuming wine with such enthusiasm I'm surprised Germany has any Alsace left. So, of course I got bigger. And so did he.
See, the meals were the times when we really came together; the moments when he stopped doing whatever was keeping him away from me and we'd spend time together, we'd talk, we'd be a real couple.
I tried to organize dance lessons, go carting, couples' yoga and other activities that would keep us active and allow us to try new things in a bid to stave off the potential boredom and complacency that all too often follow as couples get too comfortable around each other. But since they didn't involve a sofa and a remote control he just wasn't into them.
I never said anything about his weight. Not just because I knew he'd been struggling with it before and I knew berating him would really hurt him. But also because I was fine with it. Honestly. He'd always been shaped like that. That was the man I fell in love with; the man I still fancy like mad.
He on the other hand didn't feel that way. Over the years I had changed. As a result of the difficult places I'd been and injustice I'd witnessed my attitude to life had changed. And he wanted "the old me back". With "a little more happiness" and... brace yourselves... "less muffin top".
Men want a woman who enjoys her food. That's what all the Cosmo surveys repeatedly tell us. They don't want to date a woman who pushes a lettuce leaf around her plate looking miserable. They want a woman who isn't afraid to tuck into a bloody steak. But they don't want it to show anywhere; they still want their women to stay skinny. They criticize your figure, yet expect you to feel totally comfortable with yourself so you can put on shows of out-of-this-world carnal acrobatic performances. And no matter how fat, short and unathletic they are, they still think they have a chance with a supermodel. Seriously, what is wrong with them?! We women want our men to look after themselves too! Of course we want that 6ft tall hunk with an oiled six-pack we see on adverts selling us anything from washing liquid to aftershaves.
That night I went out and flirted with that door man (an ex-Marine, by the way...) I saw this woman. She was as pregnant as a woman can be and yet her bum was smaller than mine. Her skinny jeans actually looked skinny! So, I decided to get serious about this new life at last. I decided to do something about my weight. Until a couple of hours later I found myself placing an order for pizza... Oh, well. Maybe tomorrow?
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