Those Old Pair of Jeans

Most women will know where I'm coming from with this (maybe some men too?) - I have a skirt in my wardrobe I have never worn, because it is just that bit too small. I fit in it, but I don't feel comfortable in it.
My chunky thighs are pressed together in a way that is only desirable for ... Well, nothing, and no one.

WAIT! CORRECTION!
My chunky thighs are pressed together...

Because that's what these kinds I clothes make us do. They make us feel fat, simply because we don't quite fit in them. 

Like an old pair of jeans you might have in your cupboard that you used to fit into, and you will fit into once again, as long as you do that Zumba class/carb-free diet/miracle diet pill.

Being a bit of a stingy person, I hate the idea of having to buy new clothes when I change size, so the idea of staying the same size appeals to me for this reason. But lately, with my jeans slightly baggy and me hoisting them up by my thumb every time I walk, I want to get some new, better fitting jeans.  

But as I keep discovering, clothes retailers feel the same way about my body as I often do: love my waist, hate my thighs.  
I get their jeans up - just- over my thighs to find there's a massive gap at the small of my back which I HATE.
I am not skinny enough for really skinny jeans. I tried on a pair of "relaxed boyfriend" jeans. Size 8, space at waist, tight at thigh. Size 10, space everywhere, and falling down with every move.  

My gym-bunny colleague has interpreted this as more reason to continue my workouts. Perhaps.  

So what should I do? Wear more dresses? If only - dresses these days are either maxi dresses (where's Emma gone? Why is this dress walking towards me?!), shift dresses (my beautiful curves, where did they go?!) Or the kind that look like a blouse and a skirt sewed together (is this a tea dress?) which strain over my boobs, and sit tight above my waist in a manner that makes me feel as though I'm tied to a long line of slaves. 

If I knew anything about dress making, I'd make things myself, in my measurements, so that I feel comfortable.
But since I don't, I'm stuck with two options- buy ill-fitting clothes, or change my body.  

These clothes, these retailers, make me feel as though my body is wrong. This on top of tons of pictures of models and celebs whose body I will never be remotely similar to (because LEGS), and adverts for creams and lotions that will exfoliate, firm or just sit away my body worries (seriously, my “Sit Tight” Soap&Glory body firming cream says it works when I'm SITTING.) 

So I am convinced that I need to work harder, exercise more, eat less, pray longer, so I can get the thighs of my dreams and of a retailer standard size so I can finally buy some jeans that FIT.   
Of course, I could do all of that.
Or I could just buy a belt. 
But I hate belts. 

And also, exercising more and eating less will not change my feet, which refuse to be a size 4.5, 5 or 5.5 and therefore always fall out of shoes or are rubbed on the toe, heel or on the skin anywhere.
 (Saying this, I got two pairs of shoes today. But they're sandals! They don't count! I'm talking high heels for work or fun!)  





Christine: I mean, they kind of rub my ankles, but all shoes does that. I have low ankles. 
Richard: You think you deserve that pain, but you don't.  






So my feet, and my thighs, are wrong.
And I probably (definitely) don't care enough to change.

FML, right? 

A List of Dislikes

I have a new tattoo.
It hurt like a b**ch to have it done.
It dislikes a lot of things.

For example, it dislikes bending over in certain ways.
It dislikes walking too fast (I haven't even attempted to run). It dislikes stairs, and taking steps down off the kerb. It dislikes most movements, actually.
It dislikes the pressure of the wind. It dislikes a hand in a coat pocket on top of it.
It dislikes clothes against it. It dislikes me putting on these clothes, and taking off these clothes. 
It dislikes being touched, even when it's getting covered in soothing, moisturising cream. 

But I absolutely love it to goddamn pieces. The less it sticks to my clothes, the more the pain decreases, the more I fall in love with it.
Is this the way to love your body? By drawing on it with needles? 

The night before I got it done I dreamt I overslept and missed the appointment. When I then woke up before my alarm, I decided to get up, just in case.

But also that night before I started to panic about whether it would look good. Not that the design would look good, but whether it would look good on me. Whether I should have lost weight before having it done, so that my body would look better. 
As it turns out, I like the way it sits just before the curve of my hip. 
And when I showed my sister when I uncovered it for the first time, she said "You're so skiiinnyyy." Which I wasn't expecting. 

If the remedy of body dislike is to tattoo it with the things you love, then I will continue to cover it. 
Except maybe not on my ribs next time.

Perhaps I am simply trying to exert some control over my physical entity, which continually denies me control if you look to my headache as an example. And also because I just can't seem to stop eating these bourbons.