Lordy, where do I even start with this one. So I’ve been busy over the last couple of days getting my stuff ready for my forthcoming trip. (What do you mean you hadn’t realised I was going away, didn’t I mention it?) And the fact that I’m only going for four nights is in no way proportional to the size of the bag I’m taking with me, in fact folk might well suspect I’m emigrating when they see me setting off.

I’ve mentioned the wardrobe situation before haven’t I, in a post a few weeks ago – my skinny clothes reside inside those closet doors whilst my fat clothes are relegated to the laundry basket/ironing pile merry-go-round. I bought quite a few new outfits before my last holiday, but I’ve got to be honest I don’t think I possess one single fat garment that I would choose to wear as a skinny girl. So what makes the cut, and gets to come on the trip? I think probably everything. I have to account for the asshole factor you see.

In the few times in my life that I’ve achieved the hallowed skinny girl status, I’ve gone mad buying clothes…lots and lots and lots of clothes. Most of which sit in my closet still, with the tags attached. Were I travelling as a skinny girl, given that we know our itinerary I’d have a carefully selected outfit for each day, each evening and maybe one or two spare things. I’d unpack, hang them up and wear what I’d planned to wear, when I’d planned to wear it and beyond that, I wouldn’t  give it much thought.

Travelling as a fat girl, with the asshole in my head in tow, it’s a different proposition. Whilst I’m packing, he’ll tell me yes that looks fine…he’ll say that about everything, pretty much. But when I’m there…different story you know? You’re really wearing that? It makes your bum look like two puppies fighting in a sack. Your arms are on display and it’s too tight…it doesn’t look right, doesn’t fit right, you look twice as big as you really are if that’s even possible…I know I’m getting better at ignoring him, but I sort of feel like I’ve got to take twice what I actually need you know? Kind of like fat girl insurance.

Don’t get me wrong, there’s no pity party going on here…it is what it is and I’m buffeted from the barbed comments he’ll sling in my direction by the deep rooted confidence that I’m on a clear path from fat to skinny, so next time I can set off with a pair of clean knickers and a toothbrush rattling around in my bag because the rest of my holiday duds will be waiting for me in the boutiques lining the malls that I’m going to pillage whilst I’m there.

There’ll definitely be shopping this week…you know the score. Maybe a bit of jewellery…a handbag perhaps…scent, yes definitely scent…fat girl accessories, but clothes, no. I don’t need fat clothes, I have them and besides they’ll have limited shelf life since I’m on the road to skinny town 🙂 And I have all the skinny clothes I need, I’m just waiting for my buns to shrink.

I have everything I need…I’m in a good place  

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