Today I’m the proud owner of my very first post-op hangover and boy is it a goodun! Yesterday was what I like to think of as my ‘Urban Family’ Christmas shindig – it all started out in a very civillised manner with low level merriment over a lunch which involved discussions of administering paracetemol rectally, the best way to recover from tonsillitis and whether we really were all fickle and false like the ‘Fish O Fortune’ decreed, but descended in to a mayhem of coloured tongues, drunken rockbanding and chocolate fountain fun.
Frankie and Cornflake were boys on a mission, destination blottoville! They were ably assisted as ever by Chopper Boy and the giggling that we could hear coming from the kitchen was infectious so before long cocktail fever had taken over. My friends, mainly medics, started out by being concerned that I should take it easy on the old alcofrol and pace myself and so I was closely monitored as we started in on the Woo Woo mix. This regard for my personal safety was soon jettisoned as they began to get tipsy and realised that I’m a) a grown up and b) quite good fun when I’m a weensy bit sloshed, one even commented that he’d missed hearing my drunken laugh (a cross between a cackling witch and a foghorn with a few snorts thrown in for good measure if you must know). However I think we should get points for maintaining a small air of civillity by delicately quaffing our cocktails from dainty flutes rather than swigging spirit and mixer from a pint glass like the good old days when we’d prop up the bar in the ‘Palace of Dreams’ mainlining Juicy Lucy’s by the bucketful.
Before I got totally wonky I had a realisation though that I am changing in more than a physical sense, I’m no longer cowering away when the camera comes out desperately trying to fade in to the background, sucking in my cheeks and licking the roof of my mouth in an attempt to lessen the amount of chins I have in the vain hopes that I won’t look like a fat sweaty bushpig when the film is developed. Sure I’m not exactly skipping about striking poses like Heidi Klum but it’s a start eh? The other thing I’m really enjoying is that I have stopped taking myself so god damn seriously the whole time, I am no longer permanently looking like a bulldog chewing a wasp and have gained the ability to laugh at myself. I have to watch it though as sometimes the old self-deprecating can go in to overdrive whereby I am just a big old meanie to myself in an attempt to make people laugh AT me rather than with me but I’m still liking this new side to me. The biggest change of all though is vocabulary related – I have reclaimed a word that I am no longer afraid to use in case it makes people stare at me in horror. I bet you’re wondering what the word is? Well, it’s FAT…..
FAT, FAT, FAT – see? I can say it on it’s own but I have also found it creeping in to my vernacular, particularly in conversation with the Good Doctor when we discuss being ‘fat’ and how I was a ‘fatty fat fat’ and even how something is ‘nasty fat nasty’. It’s word I never let cross my lips before, as if saying it would draw unwanted attention to the fact that I was the size of a house. My brain (oh my misguided brain) honestly believed that if I didn’t mention the dreaded ‘F’ word, then people would not realise I was an absolute heifer. But here I am, announcing to the world – I am Fat! And I’m doing something about it – woohoo!
Our drunken night continued until we were all pretty much hammered with a collection of multicoloured tongues due to the cocktails on offer, slightly slurred speech, blurred vision and some absolutely shocking photos and videos documenting our lack of Rock Band prowess. I had one of the best nights of my young (ish) life, I think what made the difference was being comfortable in my own skin, not feeling like I was taking up too much space and this new found ability to laugh (heartily) at myself. Roll on the next get together!