Friday, 24 March 2017

You wear it well...

I am on holiday from Binland for a couple of days, and yesterday, being my first day off (well, half a day, as I finished at 11.00), I hurried off for a couple of appointments which I'd booked in.

The first one was for a session of microdermabrasion on my poor raddled face. This is the equivalent of pressure washing the patio after a hard winter, but using grit instead of water, and although not that painful, it does smart a little.  But ladies, as we all know, no pain, no gain, and I was more than happy to put myself in the capable hands of Mrs H for half an hour while she removed several layers of dead face.  I said to Mrs H as she fired up the sandblaster, that she'd probably take enough off to resurface the M4 from Swindon to Reading, but she laughed that off and thirty minutes later I was all pink and rosy cheeked. 

My second appointment of the day was for something I have been putting off for some time.  I had received a letter from my Doctor inviting me in for a 'Health Check'.  Now we all know that this is medical speak for 'Let's see how much you are potentially going to cost the NHS as you hurtle toward senility'.  

Well, I went along with it, and yesterday, found myself answering questions about my lifestyle.  The exercise bit was easy, and believe it or not, she put me down as 'active'. I'm not sure that crying into a yoga mat once a week, and eating custard creams between dances counts as active, but I wasn't going to tell her that.  The subject then came up about my five a day.  'Did I understand what constituted a healthy diet?'  Well. at the ripe age of 53, I think I probably do.  Cake?  Bad.  Apple?  Good.

But then she asked about the drink.  Now I know that I have often spoken about my love affair with rhubarb gin, but to be perfectly honest, I can go for weeks without an alcoholic beverage passing my lips.  Nor have I ever smoked.  I didn't like the way this was going.  I realised that I was coming across as really boring (and middle aged).  But the best was yet to come...

'Can you take your shoes off and get on the scales please'.

Oh dear.  Well.  In for a penny, in for a kilo, so onto the scales I stepped.

'That can't be right',  she said.  'You can't weigh that much.  Hop off, and get back on'.

Same weight...

'Just a minute', she said as she shot out of the door, coming back a few seconds later with another set of scales.

'Get on those', she said.

Same weight...

'Mmm', she said, 'you carry it well'.  Of course, what she meant by this is that I am slightly fat all over, instead of just carrying it around on my stomach.  Measuring my waist, she was more than happy to give me the go ahead for a long and healthy life, and I was dismissed with a 'Just keep on doing what you're doing'.

Now about that waist measurement...

High waisted Spanx, I salute you...