This week’s been a great week, in fact it’s fair to say that although I wasn’t wearing my impressed face when I greeted Monday morning after two weeks off work, it shaped up way better than I was expecting. And that’s not because anything monumental happened, you know like I didn’t win the lottery or get ravished by Hugh Jackman, which are my go-to fantasies when the week needs brightening up a little. It was just a great week.
That said, two things did happen, which wouldn’t justify a diary entry in their own right on the life pages of most folk but you know what, in the context of my journey damn straight they’re getting on the page. Firstly, on Monday I wore heels.
I know! I can’t pinpoint the exact time in my journey up the scale where heels became too difficult, although that’s not surprising…during that whole time I didn’t acknowledge any of the signs that the wheels were slowly coming off. That would’ve required me to deal head on with the fact that I was eating myself to the brink, you know? However, whether I acknowledged it at the time or not, there’s definitely a point on the fatness scale where flat shoes become your only friend.
Your centre of gravity takes a direct hit as extra rolls of flesh pop out here and there, and the weight of your body can no longer be thrown forward onto the ball of your foot, because it hurts too much. So the heels get lower and lower until you end up with flat as the only option…I lived in Ugg boots and slippers for at least a year.
Anyway, I’d been saving the excitement of wearing a pair of black trousers with a fixed waistband and no stretch for my first post-holiday day in the office. Those pants haven’t fitted me for at least five years but I knew they fit me now, and I was good to go except when I put them on I remembered that the legs were way too long…I’d always worn them with my pointy black boots. So I grappled with the whole should I take them off again, not ready for heels yet debate before thinking fuck it, it’s now or never. Out came the pointy black boots with their three inch heels.
I’d like to say I glided around the office with a degree of elegance throughout the day, but the reality is I just looked taller and a bit wobbly. But my pants didn’t trail on the floor and I made it to the end of the day, admittedly slightly footsore and not in any rush to pull them back on again any time soon, but I did it. My body allowed me to wear heels and walk.
The second big milestone this week was wearing a bra, like a proper bra as opposed to the kind of stretchy crop-top type garment which keeps the girls in check without giving any kind of shape whatsoever. Same as with heels, there comes a point where underwear becomes problematic, you know?
As I got bigger and bigger, I relied on bra-clasp extenders which coaxed a little extra life out of my stretched and tired old bunbags but even then there came a point where I felt like I had cheese wire pulled tight across my upper body, digging in and accentuating the rolls of flesh on my torso. I’d often have weals on the side of my body by the end of the day. Discovering the crop top bras with deep sides and no wires took away the discomfort, along with any suggestion of shape.
Last week, I bought myself some new bras, and this week they got their first outings…I’ve gotta say my norks looked awesome. Lets be honest, my spare tyre and the underwires are never going to see eye to eye especially after more years than I can count wearing the slouchy comfort of elastane, but the new bras fit, and they’re not cutting me in half. Come on, I was perky…that’s got to be worth a bit of negotiation with my midriff, right?
It’s all coming together. Every day just lately there seems to be something else I can do, or something else that’s just a bit easier…little by little I’m chipping away at the fat suit.
New bra and heels..? I’m not on the pull, honest 🙂
