I get high in the evening sniffing pots of glue…

Oh dear readers it’s been a while hasn’t it? I’m sure by taking a blogging holiday (a Blo-liday?) I’ve managed to reduce my readership down from hundreds of thousands to the Good Doctor who keeps verbally poking me to update and Lady Headstrong who is linked to this blog and thus has no excuse for not reading but never mind, I think the break did me good.

I’m still shrinking which is ace although I have discovered in a rather hilarious way that my head is still as fat as ever. This fatness of head now means that I am yet again in distinct danger of flashing my big white arse at anyone and everyone as I move through my day. I am once more reduced to shuffling around with my hands thrust in to my pockets and stopping every ten paces to hoick things back up in to place. I think of my oh so saggy jeans that make me look like I have a wee willy winky as being a result of what I like to call ‘The Evans Effect’ whereby I hate Evans and their shitty circus tent looking clothes with a passion and so aim to spend as little time as is humanly possible in their store thus never try anything on and rely on my judgement to size myself up. Their sizes are inconsistent and they have a tendency to use lurex, lycra and cheap synthetics which don’t showcase ones fat rolls in the best light but as if that wasn’t enough to contend with, they have started hiring waif like sulky teenage girls. In some respects I feel a little sorry for them, they will have applied for a sales role in the Arcadia group thinking that they’d end up working in the mecca that is TopShop and had their little hearts and dreams crushed upon realising they’d be selling over the shoulder boulder holders and mu-mus to fatties, but their attitudes suck as they stand there looking all haughty and judgemental about the legions of fat sows buying apple catcher knickers and ‘fashionable’ attire.

Larry the left and Romily right are now positively emaciated – the bra that they so perfectly filled is now bagging and gaping requiring me to surreptitiously adjust myself throughout the day. I am realising that suck ’em in support body stockings may just be the way forward as I spend a disproportionate amount of time rearranging my wobbly bits in an attempt to make them look normal under my clothes. Apart from having to engage in some daily sartorial sculpture things have been alright – I still think I should be back on the crazy pills as I feel perpetually pissed off at something or someone (I’m in a very bad mood today so stand well clear!) and bad tv is making me cry again but part of me just wants to see if I can ride it out a little longer before admitting defeat and returning to my old buddy Citalopram!

In other news, I told K that he should come along to a soiree with some friends of mine as it would be ‘a total giggle’ (I always think that phrase makes me sound like an airhead!) and he didn’t take the bait. Didn’t outright say ‘No, piss off you fat harpie bitch’ but wasn’t exactly dancing with glee at having been asked. Ho hum, I guess we’ll continue on with our daily banter while I dream of moonlight and roses and he is all swoony and London based and see where we end up. Lady Headstrong assured me that I would find a man and that Murphy’s Law dictates that I will find him approximately 8 weeks before heading off to the US for 13 weeks. So Mr Right (Or Mr Right Now!) you have until April 22nd to make yourself known sucker!

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