Thursday and Friday passed by with relative ease and yet more soup, salad and steamy veg. No sins, all cool.
Saturday was a really frenetic, busy and physically tiring day - I was sorting and moving stuff in our storage unit. It was several hours of lifting, bending and flinging stuff around and it was knackering! The food intake up to mid afternoon was as follows:
Breakfast - Branflakes with banana, honey and skimmed milk (good)
Lunch - Large roll with salad and a bit of grated cheddar (ok)
Packet of crisps (bad)
1 tea, 1 coffee, 1 diet coke
I was feeling a bit slimmer and not at all bad. Then followed some rushed shopping for various gifts, I had a skinny latte and still felt good.
Then I rushed home in order to get changed to go out to the party of the friends who are emigrating and everything went to crap.
I had in mind that I would wear a black dress which I've had for years. It's a size 14-16 UK and is a bit stretchy, with a tighter, shorter lining and a layer of chiffon over the top with an asymmetrical hemline. It's always been very flattering. I've worn it at my very fattest - size 16-18 and it has still looked great, very Jessica Rabbit, and I've worn it at my thinnest, size 10-12 and it is loose but still a good shape. It's one of my only guaranteed-I-can-fling-it-on-and-always-look-great outfits, regardless of size.
I tried it on. It didn't fit.
It has shrunk in the wash. In a very real way, not just in my head. The lining was about 3 inches shorter and when I tried it on you could see a huge, unacceptable amount of thigh (bordering on arse-overhang) underneath the chiffon. I was disappointed that I've ruined it, but there was the more immediate worry of what the hell to wear. I've never been good at the whole 'in-between the seasons' dressing - hot weather/cold weather, fine, anything else, nope. The party invitation said posh frocks, so I spent the next 30 minutes trying on every damn thing in my wardrobe and getting more and more depressed. There were certain things that were ok unless I sat down. There were certain things that were ok if I hid behind a large object for the duration of the party, but nothing acceptable. Mr M kept telling me I looked lovely and it only made me more furious and distraught. I kept thinking, what have I done to myself in the last 2 months? I've gone on a mission to destroy all of the good work that has taken a year to achieve. My friends must think I'm seriously damaged! They saw me at the wedding all slim and lovely and now I'm all bloody fat again in record time!!
I ended up in my baggies, sitting on the floor and smoking a cigarette, crying pathetically and refusing to go to the party.
Mr M was great. He let me get it out of my system, then buoyed me up and made me laugh; not an easy task. I married a good 'un. I eventually dragged myself off the floor, grabbed some jeans, heels and a dressy but blissfully baggy top and piled on the accessories. I looked good. I put on a shedload of slap, fluffed my hair and we finally left the house. Disaster averted.
Of course, I then drank several gallons of wine and ate my bodyweight in bread and cheese at the party. The next day we were so hung over that take away pizza and an entire day in bed seemed the only option.
I was so close to getting back into the swing of things, but my meltdown at the weekend has done me quite a bit of damage. I was not bad yesterday, although there was a bit of chocolate involved at some point.
God, I'm so rubbish! I was so damn focused before! It was easy! I loved it!