Holidays are too short for starving yourself

I’M going on my holidays this week and I swore a few months ago that I would make an effort to be somewhat presentable. Numerous people were embarking on diets and asked me to join them in their quest for an acceptable bod. That should have sent me a very loud and clear message, but I chose to ignore it. I asked the guy in the cake shop the other day if the round cream doughnuts or the long ones were equally fattening or if one was worse than the other. He told me not to be worrying and that he had seen fatter mice. Despite the fact that he was lying through his teeth and as he was in fact the purveyor of said same doughnuts was the only one to actually benefit from the sale, I chose to be flattered and wanted both. One word of encouragement is all I need.

I hummed and hawed and basically just kept on eating. Now I’m dreading the first day at the pool. Nine of us go off together so eight people will be staring open-mouthed at my gut. And those togs that claim to have a panel that pulls your stomach in are a joke.

I saw a sign the other day saying ‘I’m fat but I identify as skinny. I’m transfat’. That’s me. Transfat. I’m deluded that I can cover up and people won’t really notice as I lumber towards them.

I’ve found a few very large swingy dresses for over togs. Tents basically.

Life is too short for starving myself. As Billy Connolly points out, eating lettuce and the like to live longer is a load of old cobblers. Live longer when. Not when you’re young and sexy and out enjoying life carousing and embracing hedonism. No, it’ll add on a bit of time when you’re in the old folks home being drip fed. So maybe I’ll eat for now and worry later.