Tea and Sympathy

So I survived the sister-and-aunt visit without any massive fights or bingeing. (To be fair, I never feared the aunt, only the sister…)

My sister behaved almost entirely as predicted. She quizzed me about my food, my weight (the actual number) and my exercise. She asked me – in a tone I cannot describe, except to say how much I loathe it – if I were “still bingeing.” She glowered and sulked when – at a boutique off Portobello Road – the designer told me I so suited the pencil skirt and corset top I tried that he’d give me a discount because he thought it would be good for business for me to walk around in it. (Really, I’m not making this up. I couldn’t believe it myself. Even if it was just idle flattery I still appreciated it.) My sister withdrew further when the stylist suggested she also try on the outfit. My sister didn’t say it didn’t fit, but her face when she came out of the dressing room was enough. It reminded me so exactly of her face at the academic awards ceremony my senior year of high school, where the announcer joked at one point that I needed roller skates since I had to come up to the stage so often. The evening – for me – was ruined.

Seeing my aunt – my father’s younger sister -- was painful for another reason. She’s almost always been varying degrees of overweight (except for a stint in the 80s, I think it was, when she took black beauties), but I don’t remember her ever being this heavy: a size 26/28. It was difficult for her to move, and although I was never quite that heavy, I recognized the fear in her face almost everywhere we went. She worried about having the right clothes for the events I took them to (among them, drinks at a private members’ club and the prêt-a-portea at the Berkeley), knowing perfectly well that she wouldn’t be able to pop out and buy another outfit anyway. After hearing me rave about it, she asked specifically to be taken to Rigby & Peller for a fitting, but I could tell by the nervous jokes she was making that she was terrified she’d be humiliated by them not stocking her size. She was relieved when they did, but the euphoria quickly dissipated when I took her to Duo Boots to be measured for knee-high black boots. But her feet were just too wide for the styles she liked.

Then there was her behavior around food, which pained me only because I remember so well trying to do it myself. She was careful to choose healthy options, she never finished anything, and she’d remove the top layer of bread from her sandwiches. I’d say I ate at least 50 percent more than her at every single meal. (When I was overweight, I always tried to moderate my eating in front of other people, but lots of times I just couldn’t. I’d try to mentally cut my portion in half or leave a few bites over and then think grumpily: Well, they know from my size that what I’m eating now isn’t all I’m eating. And then I’d eat more.)

She talked about watching an episode of Dr Phil – or maybe it was an Oprah on which Dr. Phil appeared, and how scornful he was of a very overweight lady, telling her: “Look what you’ve done to yourself.” She says she looks at herself and thinks the same thing, and knows her ex-husband (she’s just gotten divorced) thinks the same thing. And she spoke about how she’s sure my father deliberately leaves her out of the frame when he’s taking pictures.

She said this last bit calmly, matter-of-factly, over Louboutin Pigalle shoe iced butter biscuits and Smythson maze bag banana cake at the Berkeley Hotel. It would be a lie to say it took my appetite away, but it did make me extra-careful about what I was eating. (I’d vowed that – although the tea is unlimited – I’d only have one of each kind of cake.) I don’t want to go back to the place that she’s in.

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Public service announcement: Thornton’s white chocolate Easter eggs are utterly tasteless. Don’t bother. Also, Waitrose’s Bramley apple hot cross buns don’t taste like they’ve even slept next to an apple.

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BN2 and I have been seeing each other, and I don’t want to go there right now except to say that I am seriously wary. I think it’s a sign that when we were walking by the charity shop on my corner and I spotted a £7.99 size 10 Temperley dress in the window – yes, I too thought that designer labels at charity shops were an urban myth – he said he’d never seen me look so excited.