So preparations are underway for the big trip…four more sleeps till I hook up with my friends, and one further sleep before we all jet off for five days of girly time. To say I’m excited is a bit of an understatement, after all we’ve been planning the trip for about a year. This weekend will be mainly about doing all the holiday things like picking up holiday money, and packing. I feel energised, and I feel in control. I’m not stressing about the diet, which is going well and is flexible enough for me not to have to deny myself the odd treat. We’re cool, I’ve got the food plan down and I’m totally ready to keep hitting it straight whilst I’m away.
I’m not stressing about the asshole (who is busy packing too, he is of course coming with me) and I’m not stressing about the flight (seat belt extension, check)…I’m not even stressing about the fact that whilst I’m pretty sure no klaxons will sound when I check in for the helicopter flight and step on their scales, I’ll almost certainly have to pay extra dollars for my extra arse. I’ve lost weight but I don’t think I’ve lost enough. We’ll see, but whichever way up nothing’s crimping my mood right now.
Except the selfies, dammit. Now I’ve spent the last two weeks rubbing out the ordinary and installing the bling. I’ve got my false eyelashes in place…individually glued on in plenty of time for me to get used to navigating through them to put my contacts in. Nails manicured, with added holiday sparkle. Hair has lost it’s ‘just cut’ look and grown long enough to cover any rogue pubic-looking hairs which might suddenly sprout out of my neck at warp speed whilst I’m away and have my eye off the ball temporarily. I’ve even got some new fat-girl-clothes. It’s fair to say the turd is well and truly polished…this is as good as it gets. So in the grand scheme of things, I should be ready for all the holiday selfies, right? You’ve got to be kidding.
There’ll be phones out every five minutes taking photos in every location, capturing every moment for posterity…me included of course. I love these girls to the moon and back, they’re my people, you know? Of course I want lots of memories to look back on, and so will they. They don’t care that I’m fat, we all go back years and years and we work perfectly as a six pack. We laugh together, cry together…fit together. They’ve seen me fat-skinny-fat-skinny and they don’t give a rats ass. But I’m still not ready for the cameras.
I have strategies, of course…if we have to have a group shot taken I’ll find a way to be on the back row. Hide my bulk behind someone else and just flash a big smile. Selfies might work if there’s just head shots and if I’m really clever I might get just the one chin in shot…no body shots allowed obviously. But what happens to all the pictures..? Facebook happens…the asshole in my mind has been chewing at me all week about that.
Friends of friends might see me. And I was probably skinny the last time they saw me…because fat photos don’t make it onto my Facebook. With the exception of one photo taken by my friend which caught my head at just the right angle so several chins were all but invisible, I think the last photo of myself I put on line was probably at least 5 years ago. As far as my on-line life is concerned I’m the carefree skinny girl I was before life stopped mirroring art and I disappeared underneath the weight of my own body.
Friends of my friends, who know me too, if they recognise me at all will think Crap! Would you look at that! And that’ll be it, my skinny on line cover blown. And that’s a real mood hoover. Apparently it’s a recognised phenomenon. Lots of people have on-line lives which are far more shiny and happy than their real lives…they just edit out the bad and display their shit in the best possible light for other people to ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ over. I’m not saying I do that – I don’t. I’m genuine, and I don’t mislead…I just hide instead. I post words. Pictures of my dog, pictures of places I’ve been…witty soundbites of my life…just no photos of me.
So girlies, if you’re reading this…what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas, right? I don’t mind waking up with tigers in the bathroom or one of the dream boys in my bed (let me just say that again in case you didn’t hear it the first time, I don’t mind waking up with one of the dream boys in my bed 🙂 ) but NO TAGGING ME IN PHOTOS Y’HEAR?!!
