Thursday, 9 March 2017

I should be so lucky...

I have a new dress for the husband's soiree on Saturday night.  I didn't think for one nano-second that I would be able to get it on, let alone look good enough to be seen in public, but lo and behold, I did.

All the exercise I am doing seems to be working on different bits of my body, and I have noticed the following minor adjustments:

I have waved goodbye to the bingo-wings.  Before starting the weekly swimathon with Mrs S, there was always a risk of these having someone's eye out with over vigorous flapping about.  In fact, before embarking on my 'eat less, move more' regime, I was considering sewing in some darts into my sleeves to accommodate them.  But they are no more, so by the time the summer gets here, I won't be trawling M&S for three quarter sleeve summer tops.

My muffin top has completely disappeared.  Now this is something I have been known to achieve with those vacuum knickers which push every thing in.  However, the podge has to go somewhere, and rather than settling around the non-existent bosom area, it chooses to bypass this obvious need and travel to the upper thighs where it squidges out from the tightly fitted parts.  Those knickers do give you a great hourglass figure, but mine is just one where all the sand has dropped....

So the muffin top - this is a slightly optimistic description.  Full term pregnancy might have been more accurate, and over the last ten months, I have become Queen of The Skimming Top.  But it's gone, my stomach not quite the washboard I am aiming for, but no one will be coming up to me and asking 'when it's due'.  That's a brave man who asks that.  The husband tried it at a wedding once, and got a slap for his trouble.  Since being with me, I have coached him as to the things you should never say to a woman.  'No you can't' being the most obvious one, along with 'Yes dear'.  I am now able to take him out in polite company without too much trouble.

So back to the changes.  They're not all good.  My bosom, never the most apparent part of me, has completely gone.  My bras resemble hovercrafts with a lovely layer of fresh air between me and the fabric.  I can't stand the shame of buying a training bra from M&S, so may resort to chicken fillets or a pair of the husband's socks.  I'm just glad that the Trade Description Act doesn't stretch to us misleading flatties.  Sometimes what you see, isn't always what you get...

But the dancing has seen the biggest change.  To laugh with the husband for a couple of hours while we make complete fools of ourselves is just the best thing ever.  I look forward to getting into the car with him every Wednesday as we set out for the half hour drive to the class, and after we are finished (in more ways than one), getting back in the car and dissecting the steps all the way home is hilarious. I didn't think I could love him more, but giving up his Wednesdays every week so that I can pursue a lifelong dream makes me realise how lucky I am to have him.

He's lucky to have me too.  I often tell him him this just in case he forgets...



Post a Comment