Sue’s Views: Those gut-busting moves
Thoughts of me as a little round Oompa Loompa lurking in the portraits have set in motion a series of events that can at best be described as ludicrous.
It’s official my daughter is getting married in July. Now one would think it would be a time of rejoicing and much happiness for me. But my mind is firmly on those damn wedding pictures that are a necessary evil at these events.
Thoughts of me as a little round Oompa Loompa lurking in the portraits have set in motion a series of events that can at best be described as ludicrous. Now it’s not that this event has been sprung on me at the last moment, at best I have had a year to prepare. But we all know how that goes.
“I’ll lose weight and tone up,” was the grand proclamation made last year to which the partner merely rolled his eyes and gave a long sigh. You see he has been down this road numerous times with me – gym bunny I am not.
I start out with the best of intentions, I really do. “I will get up early tomorrow and hit the gym,” I witter away to myself, smug that plans have now been laid to whittle me into supermodel proportions. The food cupboard and fridge are up next for a decluttering of all things sugary, I’m on a roll and nothing can stop me.
“For crying out loud woman leave the cupboard and fridge alone, I live here too you know,” says the partner as I stand in the kitchen, cappuccino muffin mix in hand dithering where to hide it out of sight.
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Next up is the laying on of hands on the gym clothes as I reverently chant, “You will fit, you will fit.” Now at this point, I must confess I do own a pair of lycra leggings and to see me heaving my way into them could scar your retinas for life. Bulging in places I never bulged before, it’s definitely not a sight for the fainthearted.
By now, I have worked up quite a sweat from all the activity and feel it’s time to reward myself with a ‘little something’. Aahh yes the beat-up old sweetie, courtesy of a local restaurant, lurking in the bottom of my bag will do. It’s one of those knockoff Super C type numbers so I comfort myself with the thought that I’m not really cheating as it’s loaded with vitamins.
Off to bed early, I am ready for the big day. Alarm set, and it’s all stations go. I’m jerked out of blissful sleep by the partner shaking me awake. “Turn off that bloody alarm, I’m trying to sleep,” he mumbles. What? Surely it can’t be morning already? It’s still dark. I hit the snooze button with good intentions still in place. Ten minutes won’t hurt I think as I snuggle down in bed. And so it goes until I stumble out of bed and it’s time to get ready for work. “Thought you were gyming,” says the partner. “I’ll start tomorrow,” I say, to which he gives a long sigh and says no more.
Later, that day at work the colleagues and I are mulling over weighty matters. “I’ve seen those undergarment numbers that pull it all in,” says one. So that’s it, folks, one cast-iron girdle to hold me in from knee caps to neck coming up.
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