Me and My Miniskirt

Saturday was a manic day, and just as I was about to head out the door that night – having dressed in 10 minutes flat – I realized I was missing something.

I had forgotten to worry about whether my clothes would fit. Let me back up and explain: I was headed to the School Disco, and since I already owned a miniskirt from when I went in February, I didn’t give the outfit another thought. I thought it might be a good idea to try it on (never got around to that), but I didn't spend one single second anxiously praying it would fit so I wouldn't then have to do a mad dash around looking for something in my size and then spend the rest of the day/evening feeling cross because I couldn't find anything or had had to settle for what fit instead of what I liked. The way it inevitably would have been three years ago -- when I'd also have been torn about whether to avoid the event entirely (I don't think they make miniskirts in my old size) or feel like my fat was holding me back from doing something fun.

It was a great feeling, realizing that sort of angst is no longer a part of my life. (It's been replaced with other kinds, but never mind about that...)

I almost hate myself for writing this, but if anything the miniskirt didn't look great because it was a bit too big. I have lost maybe five pounds since February, but I guess I've shrunk more than I realized, because I had more than an inch of extra fabric bunching up when I made the Velcro meet (it's a cheap and nasty blue plaid wraparound, bought online for about £12).

I put on a white shirt and a headband and tights (the skirt is probably a microskirt -- it's scandalously short) and off I went.

"You look very Gossip Girl," said the first two guys I met at the pub just across from the Portland Girls School. (I texted a friend for analysis and she pronounced it a compliment, so, um.... thanks.) Another guy's comment wasn't so ambiguous: "I like your skirt," he said. "It's short."