When I was young I was a little portly. I was built like a little cauldron.
I swam, I sported, I biked and I also had a penchant for toffee crisps. While this may have felt like the perfect lifestyle balance for me, not everyone else thought so. Some people thought that this finely honed little barrel could do with losing a pound or two.
This was me in Oliver. Even though my singing was weak I got a reasonable part as I looked too well fed to be an urchin.
My mum promised me a pair of dungarees if I could become a more acceptable shape. I don’t remember being placed on any particular diet. I do remember doing “shape up and dance” with Felicity Kendall in my Nan’s lounge. I kept sporting, and swimming and biking and remaining well upholstered. The dungarees were a dream that disintegrated as quickly as the fabric of my jeans under so much pressure. What didn’t disintegrate was the idea that nice things were wasted on the fat.
I have always wanted a leather jacket. I have wanted a leather jacket for more than 20 years. Each time I have seen a jacket I wanted, I have stopped myself. Its a waste, Polly. To buy such a statement article of clothing when I am going to lose weight any way. Next year. No, next year. This body didn’t warrant being encased in anything so luxurious when it would only fit for a week or two. While I had made peace with myself probably being the same size forever, I hadn’t taken that though to the next step. Until last week when I was given some birthday money. I wanted to use it for something meaningful, because the people that gave it to me meant something. In that moment, I know what needed to happen. I could have a leather jacket now. And it will mean so much for many reasons.
And, here’s the crazy bit, if I ever change shape then I will get another one, because I will be just as deserving of one then, too.