Girly Rant About Clothes

A girl at work is wearing a cowboy shirt. Oh dear. It’s checked with little flowery patches here and there. I don’t really know how else to describe it. Ok, so it’s kind of fashionable, but it looks terrible. Shorts are fashionable too, but there’s no way in hell I would wear them, not with my fat sausage legs. The shops are awash with glittery tops and waistcoats and summery tops, despite it being October. Ok, so it’s not that cold at the moment, but it will be, and there’s not a decent jumper to be had anywhere in the UK. Skinny jeans are still around. They’ve been around for a while, and I can’t even get them past my ankles. Fortunately baggy jeans are also in the shops, so I can hide my fat ass in those very nicely.

Why all the fashion talk? I hear you ask. Well, it’s on my mind. I’m fed up of looking crap. I try to wear nice things, and I always look kind of smart, and I know how to wear tops that skim rather than cling, but even so, I look dated. I open up my wardrobe in the morning, and I hate everything I own. I want to throw everything away and start again.

It’s my way of coping you see. I can kid myself that everything would be ok if only I could look like I just stepped out of a magazine. The truth is, happiness is elusive, and my bulimic friend has been both fat and thin, and she was never happy. But the desire to be thin is so deeply imbedded in my brain, it’s an obsession. My weight has been creeping up lately, and I don’t know what to do. Exercise and stop eating crap are the obvious answers, but it’s not as easy as it sounds. Unless you’ve been depressed I don’t think you could ever understand the total inertia that fills you, and the complete inability to make yourself move.