I blogged about my moderate success with weight loss a month ago, but the story apparently hasn’t ended yet. I’ve been wearing size 6 jeans these days, holding on to my waist by the sheer willpower of a wide belt. Well, today I found it necessary to pierce an extra hole in the belt. I almost accidentally committed suicide doing that.
As I checked the result of my work in the mirror, I noticed that the jeans, intended to be skinny, looked like boyfriend jeans on me. That made me angry, and I found it necessary to venture in the shops and get me something of my size. I don’t feel particularly slim, so I didn’t think that my current size would be 4. I was proven wrong. The measure is my favourite Mara-approved shop, where I’ve been buying clothes since the beginning of time, and which I duly visited.
I picked pretty much the only jeans size 4 they had, was rather surprised that I zipped them up no problem and found it quite delightful that they actually fit and didn’t require to be hung on a belt. I asked the shop assistant to remove all price tags and labels on the spot because I wanted to change into them right away because I hated it how my current jeans were too big. (The shop assistant and two customers in the proximity gave me hateful looks.)
I used to wear size 8 from the same shop last year this time. So I guess I’m glad or what. It’s not like it matters, since we’re all going to die anyway. On a positive note (sort of), I can just as well be skinny while dying, right?