You know that the last couple weeks at the Fancy Home have been dominated by the search for clothes for H. When Fancy PA and I were just at the point of tearing out our eyeballs in grief (me) and frustration (her), we hit my closet. And after a proper gutting, I hit the Net-a-Porter website with the ferocity of, well, H attacking a properly cooked sirloin or the Minis left alone with a bowl of M&Ms. It was carnal.
And then I re-read that post and thought, “Oh God, Fancy. You sound like a brainless doof. There are people who struggle to pay their mortgage and here you are going on and on about all your designer clothes and your shopping sprees. And in the face of your husband who can barely squeeze himself into anything off the rack. You, my darling Fancy Pants, sound like an arrogant ass.”
Fortunately some of you still left lovely comments. Although you might still have been thinking, “God, she’s an arrogant ass.” So if you could allow me, I’d like to explain.
See, Fancy here is a Former Fat Person.
Yes, it’s true.
No, I was never confined to my bed with emergency services visiting to see which wall they’d remove from my home in the event of a house fire, but I was a bit chubby. Actually, looking back on it, living in NYC, it’s kind of shocking that I found a boyfriend while my waif-like friends continued to moan about their eternally single selves. Then again, the fact that I could go out to dinner and actually enjoy my meal might have been really refreshing for H. But then some comments were made by some people, which sent me wailing into Fancy Therapist’s office. And here’s what he had to say:
“Well, you are overweight. That’s not a lie. She was just stating fact. Yes, she’s a bitch. But you are not thin. Don’t kid yourself.”
And Fancy stopped eating. Once I actually wept openly over my chicken breast and salad while H had dessert in a restaurant. Losing weight sucks. You actually have to eat less. For weeks on end. Seriously. I’m not making this up.
By the way, working out was never the issue for me. I did 2 triathalons and a marathon wearing size L kit. But yes, it does help and I am a gym bunny to this day.
Of course then came the IVF and the shots and the failures and the heart ache and my weight went flying up, down and sideways. But once the Minis came, I found my groove again. And living on a diet of vegetables and booze, I have finally--and only recently-- once again found a happy place where the occasional steak still lives but also where I’m the as thin as I was in high school.
I will stop here and say, yes, I understand those of you who saw me at CyberMummy are thinking, “wait she’s not thin.” No I’m normal. American size 8-10. 5’9” Just inside the Fancy Wife Description. Just.
So back to my shopping spree. Fancy here can remember buying clothes simply because they were large enough. I didn’t always have choices. That is why H’s struggle is so incredibly painful for me to watch. I know what that feels like. Of course the flip side is that it is also painful to watch him battle his love of food. Because it’s not easy saying, “No,” but I seem to somehow manage to do it.
And the result is that I can actually pull on a pair of designer trousers and they fit. Nearly every item I pulled on I started to take off, saying, “Oh, too small,” only to have Fancy PA correct me. “You are that size. Any bigger is too big.” It felt awesome. And now I actually have some clothes that fit me. The closet gutting was very necessary.
Not sure if that explains it all, but I thought I should say something. Lest you were thinking, “Fancy’s kind of a jerk.” Unless you were already thinking that.
In which case, I got nothing. Hmm.
