Zip-a-dee-doo-dah

I have a plaster on my left index finger from a zipper injury.

I haven’t had a zipper injury since before November 2006, when I began This Thing I’m Doing. (Or lard-busting, as Shauna would call it. Has it really been over two years? I can hardly believe it.) I used to have them all the time, accidentally gouging the skin on my index finger when trying to zip up too-tight jeans/trousers/dresses. When times were particularly desperate – when said jeans/trousers/dress was the only thing in my closet close to fitting – I could do such damage to my finger it would take days to heal. And the injury would smart when I typed and when anything touched it, reminding me throughout the day what a fat pig I was – that I’d eaten my way out of fitting into a single thing I owned.

It was grim.

Today’s injury was from trying to zip the damn £7 Temperley dress. It fit once, when I tried it on in the morning, before I ate anything. Now I’ve become slightly obsessed with it (you would, too, if you were sitting at your computer, procrastinating on writing two stories you wish you’d never pitched in the first place). Not good. I was doing just fine carrying along as I have been – don’t need to start getting into the cutting back here and there behavior that will no doubt lead (do not stop, do not pass go) directly to a binge. I’ve vowed not to try it on again until May 1. If it doesn’t fit then, I’ll either investigate letting it out a bit or eBay it.