Let me explain... On Saturday this week M and I are having our company Christmas do - a fancy lunch at The Hinds Head in Bray (also our last hurrah before returning to the depths of mostly Michelin star-free Wales)
So given that I suck at losing weight and gained 34574656 lbs on my ill fated experiment with Mirtrazapine, I needed to buy something to wear for that lunch that wasn't 5 years old or walking trousers. I'm not exaggerating.
So this morning I hopped onto a train to Reading to find a cheap (because I'm NOT NOT NOT going to be this heavy next year don't laugh I mean it) dress at Marks and Spencer, which did indeed happen, and by carefully choosing a loose-fitting flaring style the dress wasn't even in as painful and embarrassing a large size as I had feared would be needed.
But one thing I couldn't avoid noticing as I studied my reflection in the wonderfully flattering changing room mirror (I think dimmed lighting and the right kind of fun house mirrors in those changing rooms could quadruple M&S's profits myself) was that I looked like someone had dangled a couple of ugli fruit in a string bag where my breasts should have been. I needed - desperately - a new bra. Or bras, though obviously only wearing one at a time. The problem was, I had no idea what size of bra I need these days. Other than being very clear about it being a larger size than when I last bought them (and stretched them endlessly by constantly wearing them while bingeing and abandoning all forms of real physical exercise).
So I girded my loins, headed to the lingerie fitting rooms - and requested a bra fitting. 😱😱😱 Because all overweight depressives really need to strip down to their undies in front of a total stranger armed with a tape measure.
I will admit she was really nice and didn't once retch visibly at the sight of me. And I will also admit that thanks to her help I now have a comfy bosom. But I still want to know why there isn't a better way to do this crap in the 21st bloody century. Like maybe adapting a 3D printer to scan your chest in the comfort of your own home and print out a kind of negative image in the form of a pretty bra not made from canvas and steel. Someone could make a fortune out of that if you ask me...
So anyway, I shopped. For clothes. And I didn't eat all the chocolate in the M&S food hall on my way out of the building either, which I consider a massive massive massive victory.
And now that every lovely person who left lovely and kind comments on my last post is probably wishing they'd been less encouraging and supportive I'll leave you with one happy thought. I had a bra fitting today and you probably didn't. And now you don't have to because I shared the whole experience with you. You're welcome.