A Ratty Fatty

Today was a day I had been looking forward to. It was the day Chickie was going to his Aunties for 8 whole hours.

I first had to see a man about a loft as I’m still plotting to get the house extended to get Chick’s giant inflatable ball pit out of my living room. I’ll delicately approach the subject with Accountant once the quotes are in!

The rest of the day was to be spent clothes shopping as I hadn’t been “proper” shopping for quite some time as I’ve been waiting to drop a stone in weight.

Unfortunately, as the whole “losing weight” thing hadn't happened for me, I decided it was time to make the best of my new “Post-Chickie” shape. The main features of which include new go-faster saggy boobs and five rolls of blubber attached to my stomach.

I started by making sure I had the right undies as instructed on “What Not to Wear”. Padded lift-them-up bra – check. Magic knickers – check. I was ready to rumble.

I trotted off, pathetically eager, imagining myself looking just like Jennifer Aniston by the end of the day. By the time I had eliminated the dry clean only, the hand wash only, anything itchy, anything expensive and selected the extra short leg, non-clingy, non-iron, machine washable, laminated garments - reality dawned. I reappraised my expectations of how this day would end. Jenny was out – Nanny McPhee was in.

That scared me enough that I decided the clothes would have to wait, I had something else far more important to purchase.

I asked the assistant where I could find the exercise videos and was told they wouldn’t have any until after Christmas. I explained it was an emergency and that I was fat NOW and, after a Christmas spent at my Sisters, I would probably have crossed the line into morbid obesity.

I am currently writing this as the only woman in a house with four males (one husband, one baby and two nephews). One of them is upstairs screaming, two are kicking around a football in my living room, the other is constantly whining that he needs his dinner whilst dabbing at a stain on the cushion caused by the two kicking the football.

The only perky points to my day was laughing at the couple in the jam packed, very big car park who had “misplaced” their car. They were trying to stay calm and cool but I could hear the panic in the lady's voice, “Oh, darling, where’s the car, WHERE IS IT?”

The second high was watching the fully grown man who had managed to ride a tricycle into Woolworths and proudly just sat there staring at everyone astride his lean, mean, three-wheeled machine.