Our eyes met over the top of the carrots and in that instant I knew that rather ironically I looked exactly like a rabbit startled by a set of oncoming headlights. Unfortunately for me there wasn’t a handily placed hedgerow to hop off in to and hide. With a weak half smile I went back to absentmindedly looking for the smallest carrots I could find whilst praying to Jeebus that I’d be left to finish my shopping in peace as well as trying to blend in with the display of potatoes behind me.
Feeling like I was being hunted I stalked over to the sad girl aisle aka ‘ready meals for one’ desperately hoping that he’d hop back on his bike and pedal out of my life once more. Just as I reached for a cottage pie emblazoned ‘JUST FOR ONE’ in huge orange letters the hairs on the back of my neck stood up and then ‘Long Tall Ally how lovely to see you’. Taking a deep breath I turned to face the man who was responsible for tearing my heart out through my chest less than seven years ago. And just my luck he was looking disgustingly handsome, tanned and……… MARRIED! There it was, the platinum band on his ring finger, and yep, incoming Blonde with a honeymoon tan and grin on her face a mile wide. Quite apart from the tropical tan I could tell the wedding wasn’t long ago due to the fact that they were both exuding post shag euphoria and were practically frotting over their smug married trolley.
I must have done something really heinous in a previous life, perhaps I was Hitler or maybe even Stalin but for some reason quick pleasantries were not the order of the day and he wanted a rundown of what/who I was doing since he performed open heart surgery on me sans anaesthetic. Smug marriedness was oozing from every perfect pore of his as he trotted out the questions every single non career girl dreads. I like to think of them as ‘The Big Three’ –> Where are you living? Where are you working? And the doozy, Are you seeing anyone? Ugh.
I made my excuses and a swift exit spending the next half hour dancing through the aisles trying to avoid having to bump in to them again as I couldn’t guarantee I wouldn’t dismember him with the shop’s bacon slicer, before heading home to divvy up my food in to ‘petit portionettes’ to suit my new little pouch. People must think I’m Skippy the Bush Kangaroo when I keep going on about my pouch, I swear my colleagues think I’m going to pop out a joey and hop round the office wearing boxing gloves. They would be most disappointed to hear that actually the pouch is the latest weapon in Long Tall Ally’s arsenal to let the skinny girl out. I bought a thigh toner in Argos on the way home so I can transform myself in to a hardbodied Muscle Mary although I do realise the transformation is going to be a LOT harder if I don’t bring it in from the backseat of my car.
Even after my nightmare shopping scenario (binge eater has emotional crisis in supermarket and escapes unscathed!) it turned in to a momentous occasion as I realised whilst lying in bed that (ignoring the size of the junk in my trunk which rivals Germany) I have a flat stomach! And more than just having a flat tum, I could actually see.my.ladygarden! I’ll just say that again for those in the cheap seats, I could see my lady garden! But the joy didn’t end there, oh no ladies and gentlemen I could in fact still see my lady lawn when I stood up. *cue trumpeting choruses of angels* The skinny minnies of the world cannot understand the delight in not having to move ones belly out of the way to reassure myself that I am in fact female and that my chest appendages aren’t just a big old pair of man boobs however it’s better than cream cakes, than Jimmy Choo, than sex! In fact, I’d happily wager it’s better than all three at once.