The Fat Pants Predicament

d600e6549037d93270b67b70fea71338I hate having ‘fat’ pants.  The ones you have to pull out when your stretch jeans finally won’t take the strain.  It’s better than looking like a frankfurt bursting out of it’s skin though.   About 4 months ago, the Fat Pants were getting a major workout.  It came to my attention that this was probably not good when I actually had to go somewhere and wear something decent.  Not trackies. Not a mu-mu, not my pyjamas.    Ah.  Mmm.  What to wear?  Unfortunately this particular outing involved eating.  I chose my most stretchy, least abdomen-severing duds and had to add a safety pin in the top.  I didn’t want to be mid-entree when my top button shot off at lightspeed,  striking the other diner with deadly aim and knocking them backward in their chair.  The outing was diabolical.  I sat most of the time looking like I had a stick up my backside, trying to straighten at the hips in my chair to ease the tension in my waistband.  It was hell on earth when I actually had to eat.

So the question is…go and buy some more Fat Pants? – dressy ones, jeans ones, sumdolltissuepapermer ones, Trackie ones, maybe even some ‘exercise’ ones – to give the impression I actually move occasionally.  I could always switch to skirts.  I don’t like that idea….somehow I always end up looking like one of those Toilet Roll dolls, the kind from the 1950s Nanna used to crochet.  The doll’s voluminous skirt covers the indecency of a visible toilet roll. (Yeah, because the doll is SO much more attractive.)  When I wear a skirt it looks like I have the world’s most gigantic toilet roll underneath.  I’ll stick to pants, at least until …..well….something.

There’s a New Year coming up.  I could resolve to do something about it.  But we all know how that’s going to end up.  As one of my good friends said recently, a weight loss NY’s Resolution is just your way of promising to do something without actually having to do it.  It feels good to resolve.   Clayton’s Resolution.  I never do anything about it, in the end.

Do you ever wchunksoffatatch those shows? The ones that illustrate in a ghastly manner the glistening mounds of lard that is attached, lovingly, to our bodies.  I find it all rather fascinating, rather than off-putting, and don’t at all associate it with my curvalicious rump.  It makes me feel good to see those other people sweat and cry and moan about themselves…..while I sit on the lounge and eat the strawberry and chocolate fudge I just made.

A while ago I tried some self-hypnosis.  I loaded some You Tubes to my iphone and would lie in bed listening to the meditations.  I went to sleep before some got off the ground. Some were quite lovely.  I strolled through my mind’s eye…in the imaginary forest, followed my ‘guides’, went Deeper and Deeper…and got more Relaaaaxxxed.  That’s how they say it “Rel aaaaaxxxxxxxxed.”  They sound like the snake on Harry Potter who speaks Parseltongue.  Lots of sssssibilantssss.  I found myself analysing the hypnotist.  Then I forgot to listen to him when I wondered about what kind of a bore would play metaphysical music for a living. I  got a cramp in my neck from trying to be still, was thinking about buying some Combantrin for the kids instead of concentrating on the ‘warm forest’, and got an itch on my knee which travelled to any and every part of my body when I thought “I hope I don’t get itchy”.  Mostly I just thought “am I hypnotised yet?………..Now?………..am I hypnotised yet?……”  Needless to say, that didn’t work.

I actually bought an e-book that I used to play while walking.  Sort of a cross between subconscious suggestion and a big Ass-Whooping for being so stupid as to mix hunger with thirst. Drink more water, drink more water….. I’m such an idiot.

I had some luck, a few years ago, on the protein diet.  Channelling my inner cave woman to a certain extent, was quite healthy. But not sustainable. Ask any mammoth (no pun intended.) Otherwise Neanderthal’s would still roam the earth and we would never have invented bread.    No one wants a morning snack of protein any more. Seriously,no one.

Shakes are an absolute joke.  Think about it.  They tell you to mix the powder with water – it’s disgusting.  If you mix it with milk, so it tastes ok, that’s doubling the calorie intake.  On that subject – do you really want to spend your 300 calories on a watery, gritty semi-strawberry flavoured liquid?  What you really want is a nice Cheese Toastie.  Protein shakes aren’t very smooth, they’re nearly always gritty reminding me of sunny Sundays down the beach with gritty kids and gritty lunch.  If I wanted a liquid lunch I’d go to the pub.  Shakes are dumb.

Lying in bed, I hate the 8 months pregnant feeling. (and I hated it when I was actually pregnant too! All those arms and legs…eeewww).  All that floppy belly.  Night after night, chastising myself for whatever I had done, and not done, during the day.  More, that I look awful in Fat Pants.  They could fly my Fat Pants off the Sydney Harbour Bridge and ships could see them out to sea.  NASA could lay my Fat Pants on the tarmac as a marker for re-entry from space.  If World Vision had my Fat Pants they could probably clothe an entire third world nation with the fabric.  So said my brain. Actually, I was a size 16-18, but  very uncomfortable in it, being only 158cm tall.

I decided to do Something About It.
6 hours later I had joined up, online, to a reputable, interesting, sensible and intelligent weight loss program.   12WBT – 3 months and 7.8kgs down.  OK, I could work harder. But I’m going well. It’s sustainable.  It’s quite fun.  I didn’t buy any more fat pants.  I bought an investment in myself. So far so good. We’ll see how it goes.  Then I guess I might buy some slim jeans. https://www.12wbt.com/home

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