Thursday 26 March 2009

Hey, It's the Little Things

Tonight I went to a birthday party for a boutique I love – hey, there were free manicures and I am a poor shut-in freelancer now. (Actually, I should be more of a shut-in and maybe I’d get some actual work done. Instead have been trekking around London making the most of my only-until-March-31 private healthcare coverage.) I ended up chatting to two girls who, it turns out, worked for another magazine owned by my former employer.

“I thought you looked familiar,” one of them said when I told her where I used to work. “Did you used to take Pilates? Wow, you’ve lost so much weight I barely recognized you.”

I’ve lost that much weight since December? I couldn’t help being skeptical. I haven’t. Though when I saw a friend in Asia I’d last seen at Christmas, she shrieked: “You’re tiny!” (For the record, this was Friend Bearing Chocolate, who is certainly not sensitive to the weight issue and wouldn’t, I reasoned, be saying such a thing just to be polite.)

God, I feel boring just writing about my size. Except it still delights me. Possibly too much. Then again, I’ve had a really crappy couple of months. Is it so terrible that I get a little joy out of being, erm, not-fat? (I can’t imagine ever being at the stage where I call myself thin. Sidenote: I was flicking through some personal ads out of curiosity and most of them, of course, specified slim. But one specified that you could not weigh more than 66 kgs – 145 lbs -- unless you were at least 183 cm, or 6 feet tall. I can only wonder if he planned to mandate the exact latitude and longitude of birthmarks, for heaven’s sake. Asshat.)

* * *

Slightly against my better judgment – and with a little egging on from a friend -- I went on a date last night. Just a drink with E., the nice Jewish boy I met at the school disco on Valentine’s Day. Yes, the one who kicked off the breakup.

I didn’t fancy him that night and I don’t fancy him now. But he was nice plus persistent, a combination that’s slightly irresistible when one does not want to be spending nights at home alone.

He chewed gum through the whole date. Even while drinking his beer.

(If I’d fancied him I wouldn’t have cared about the above, of course. Only because I didn’t fancy him was I just looking for further evidence of what’s wrong with him.)

He also decided to judge me for the place I’d picked to meet for a drink – a cute little cocktail bar in Islington across the street from my old flat. Because I wasn’t remotely intent on impressing him, and was frankly a bit irritated that he kept texting me to ask me what we should do (why do men think women like to organize things? I certainly don’t), I pointed out that he hadn’t suggested anything at all.

We talked about Passover, Amy Winehouse, New York, his nephews and nieces, his friends coming to visit, my family coming to visit. All very nice, all very anodyne.

I drank half a glass of sauvignon blanc and tried not to yawn too much. I am so not ready for this.

* * *

My sister and aunt arrive tomorrow morning, and I’m both excited and scared. I dread conversations with my sister about my weight – the endless questions about my size, diet, whether I’m bingeing, whether she thinks I’m starving, how obsessed I am. I’d be willing to bet my next paycheck (whatever and whenever that might be) that at some point in some dressing room (I’m taking her to the Burberry sample sale) she will start trying on my clothes to see how she compares to me, size-wise. It’s always been that way.

I’d like to enjoy the weekend without losing my temper or feeling guilty. I’d also like to be able to enjoy the food this weekend without becoming a total freak show. Four days of eating out would make me anxious under any circumstances, but this has the added pressure of:

1. Someone (my sister) paying extremely close attention to every morsel I put in my mouth. Being watched is a huge binge trigger for me.

2. At least one person (my sister) and possibly two (my aunt) talking endlessly about all of the various foods they would like to eat. I’m also highly suggestible – put an idea in my head and suddenly I’m craving something I haven’t thought about in years.

3. Not a lot of control over what I’m being given to eat at some of the meals (I have a work-related awards lunch tomorrow, a big boat race lunch Sunday, and tea on Monday).

I hope someday to be at the point where I can just enjoy some of the above for what they are, instead of thinking of them as events to navigate successfully (or, let’s be honest, unsuccessfully). Will this be the time? Unlikely, but I guess I can hope.

1 comment:

  1. Wow - it sounds like a fun social time if you can negotiate your way around sister-toxicity. Can you leave teeny-tiny clothes around for her to try to get into? Sorry, that's evil! Do enjoy some of the food - remember you're slim! Possibly even slim enough for freakoid personal ad man - bet he's not remotely attractive either, tosser.

    Apparently it takes 3 dates before you know if you're attracted or not. Although I admit it doesn't sound hopeful - the chewing gum thing alone sounds grim. And the abjugation of responsibility of where to meet, and then the cheek to criticise! You did well to just have half a glass of wine with that provocation - a cocktail list alone makes me over excited and wanting to try loads, that coupled with an annoying companion would have me hitting all the types of fruit daquiris I could drink.

    Hope you got your free manicure - along with your compliment!

    Good luck with family angst - hope you do get to enjoy some of it, even if they do drive you to insanity.

    love
    Peridot x

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