So this is it. It has finally happened to me.
They say when you move to the UAE you gain what is affectionately known as the ‘Dubai stone’. I won’t be doing that, I thought smugly, sipping my grande latte (full-fat milk, natch). Oh dear. And double dear. Now I have.
I only noticed it yesterday. We were at the beach. I went to the loo and caught sight of myself in the mirror. “Hmmmm,’ I thought. ‘I look rather large, must be the cut of the bikini or the light or maybe there is something wrong with the mirror.’
Then we got home and it was time to get dressed to go out to a party. I put on an outfit and looked in the mirror. Horror of horrors. Instead of a palm tree, there was a socking great oak. Broad in the beam is putting it mildly.
Rupert confirmed my worst fears. “You look rather….chunky,” he said. He wouldn’t dare use the ‘f’ word. Oh HELP – how can this have happened?
It gets worse. We went to the party and I chatted to a lovely French woman about how I had to lose some weight. Normally I say this in half-jest just so I can hear those comforting ‘oh don’t be ridiculous, you’re so thin’ kind of remarks. What did I get from the super-slim French lady? A stony silence. And she’s RIGHT, I am now overweight. At least I am not thin by French standards. Or my own.
The irony is I am writing a diet book. Ha! They won’t be using me in the publicity shots. Unless I follow my own advice that is. Or maybe I should just go the Oprah route; surrender and buy bigger clothes?
Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2008