It’s that time again, where I’m having to endure a bit of tin foil torture in an attempt to fool the world in general into believing that I’m silver blonde rather than silver grey. I remember last time I was here for a colour treatment, I’d written the blog post Essential Lady Maintenance before I left home, and as expected the whole experience could only be described as miserable.
When you’re the wrong side of 300lbs, sitting and staring at yourself in a full length mirror is never going to fill your heart with joy and loveliness, lets be honest. Especially when your arse is squashed into a swivel chair whose sides are threatening to cut your circulation off, and which is just that bit too tall for your feet to rest easily on the floor. My knees ached like buggery last time, I mean I’ve got the kind of calves that a shot putter would be proud of, so having them dangling from my knees for almost two hours wasn’t the most fun I’ve ever had.
Today is different. I mean don’t get me wrong, I still look like a muppet, my buddha body is swathed in a big black cape and I’ve got foil on my head, underneath harsh lighting that is doing nothing whatsoever to support the theory that fat faces age well. It’s very warm in here and my cheeks are on the unflattering side of flushed, sort of at the crimson end of the spectrum. But I feel different.
There’s no muffin top hanging over the chair for a start. It’s snug, but snug is different to wedged, right? Snug I can live with. And somehow, although the chair’s still too tall for my feet to rest on the floor, my tippytoes can. So my knees are not unhappy. I’ve brought my iPad with me so I can talk to you whilst I’m being cooked, and overall the experience is less of a trauma than it has been in past times.
However, since I’m forced to look in the mirror, I’m a bit pre-occupied with my chins. I’m about forty pounds or so down now, but I still have more than a hundred to lose and so as you might expect I still have more chins than one face really needs. The chin zone is sort of exposed at the moment whilst my hair is otherwise engaged in the foil shenanigans and I’ve got to be honest, my chins are definitely looking a bit…deflated. Like someone let a little bit of air out of a balloon, you know?
FFS I’m going to end up with a turkey neck aren’t I? When I arrive into Skinny Town with just the one chin, I’m destined to live the rest of my life wearing a scarf. The bit between my head and my shoulders is going to look like it’s wearing a skin-coloured gaiter, like the bit wrapped around the gear stick in my car. That was not part of the plan.
I’ve already made my peace with the fact that when I get to Skinny Town I’ll never again be able to wear clothes without sleeves. Even now my bingo wings would send most dinner ladies into a panic, but it’ll be far worse when I’m skinny. When I achieve my string bean stripes there will be a chuffing tsunami of arm action going on inside my sleeves, so they can’t ever be allowed to see the light of day. But I’d not considered the chin situation until just now.
I need to ponder on it for a while. Call me Mystic Meg but I see a future filled with turtleneck sweaters unless I can find a way to tighten up that skin. Drastic and urgent action needed…I’m thinking haemorrhoid cream, perhaps?
