Yesterday, I had the misfortune to think that clothes shopping would be a most excellent idea. I had a bit of spare money (The Teenager was away, natch), so what could be more soothing for the soul than treating myself?
Well. On entering the store, I was accosted by a very, very, very young and very skinny slip of a thing, no doubt a size sub-zero, who asked me in a bored voice, ‘wanna sign up for our catalogue?’ Nope. ‘You looking for anyfink special, like?’ Nope. ‘Help you with anyfink?’ Nope. Um, can I shop now please? ‘yeah, whatevs’.
I shook her off and wandered round the store, picking things up and hooking them over my arm so the sizes wouldn’t show. I must have looked distinctly dodgy as a girl darted over and asked, ‘can I yelp you?’, eyeing up my bag. Nope.
I sought sanctuary in the changing room. Mistake. Big mistake. I waited for the girl on the door to finish her very important phone conversation, ‘yeah, gotta go, oh I know, loves ya, yeah, you too babes’ (rolls eyes, sighs, stomps over to me and slaps a round disc with a 5 on it into my hand). I shuffled off to the cubicle and sealed the curtains each side. Just in case.
Right. trousers. Stumble over attempting to change into them. Get the fright of my life. Who’s that person looking back at me?
It was me. In eight different, unforgiving angles. In all my glory. I slumped to the plastic chair. Really? Seriously? That’s me side-on? I turned my face this way and that, examining my
double triple chin. The fine network of wrinkles spreading out from under my eyes. I looked…..old and tired.
I gulped back the tears and took the trousers off, but not quickly enough to avoid seeing how I looked from behind, an image now seared indelibly in my brain. Pulling myself together and dabbing at my eyes, I took my stuff, paid and left.
Back home and as deflated as a popped balloon, I examined myself in every single mirror in the house, the cat trotting behind me like it was some kind of game. I googled ‘get rid of a double/triple chin fast’ and ‘how to lose 4 stone in 4 weeks’.
My tip? Dim the lights. Cheaper than a neck lift. Extra bonus – you don’t see the dust, but that’s another story…