Warnings from my waistband

It's been brought to my attention that I've been slacking on the blog front lately...

Waist: What IS your problem girlie?
Me: Dunno. I'm just not in the blogging, slimming zone.  I've lost my mojo. I just couldn't give a toffee about slimming right now.
Waist: Well it's not good enough Tubster. You know the pattern. You get grumpy about gaining weight, then you eat crap because you're grumpy about it, and before you know it the fat pants are out.
Me: You're right, I do, and sadly, they are. The fat pants are back in town. Not the 20s, but the 18s.
Waist: Well, you know what Inner Bitch would say if she was here, don't you?
Me: Yeah, but I've banished her from giving me a hard time. I'm trying to be nicer to myself. Geneen told me I should.
Waist: Well, I think you may have taken the niceness a little too far. I'm advocating some tough love.
Me: But it's dark, it's cold and my squirrel DNA is telling me I need an extra layer for winter. And I don't do  tough love.
Waist: Well I do, so get off your lardy and go buy some veg. I tried to warn you last week but you didn't listen. Looks like I'll need need to ramp up the guerilla tactics to make you listen.
Me: So it was you that popped the button on my trousers in Sainsbury's the other day? You lousy...
Waist: Yup. Had to do something drastic. You were stockpiling enough chocolate in your trolley to see a normal person through a nuclear winter.
Me: Bugger. Thought no-one saw me.
Waist: I'm on to you lady! Consider the button incident a friendly warning. And be thankful I didn't do it in the freezer aisle.

Just as beautiful or missing the point completely?

Image via Wikipedia

"I'm Just as Beautiful as you, rake face!"

The launch of Just as Beautiful, the UK's first magazine aimed at 'curvy girls', certainly got the media flapping their bingo wings lately.

Now, if I'm honest, I've got a love-hate relationship with women's magazines. I'm nosy enough to read them from time to time, but I can't be bothered with pages of fashion or the mating habits of so-called celebrities (no, I still can't use the word celeb without having a gag reflex) - non-entities more like. And with every titbit of interesting, I find I'm forced to choke on a generous side of clap-trap. How to get a man, how to keep a man, what to do when your man shags your best mate,  how to rescue your man's libido, and then just when you think you can't possibly be enlightened any more, the trumpcard: you don't need a man, you're just wonderful all on your tod!

Well thank you very much for validating my existence.

But I digress. All I really wanted to do was flag up the latest fly-swatter to hit the news stands: JUST AS BEAUTIFUL. It's a magazine with solely plus-size models. It can't be just me that thinks the title couldn't have been any more patronising if it tried. I mean, how condescending sounding is that?!

Call me cynical, but it looks sneakily like the fashion world's answer to the size 0 backlash, and it sounds something like: "No we won't put fuller (read normal) figured models in regular magazines, but over here on the sidelines you can wallow around in your giant fat pants and big yourselves up as much as you like. Now get off our case!"

Meanwhile, over in The Economist, a magazine that is worthy of the trees that sacrificed themselves for its existence, I read that scientific tests have revealed that a group of mice (which are nocturnal) fed during the day gained 50% more weight than a group fed in darkness, suggesting a possible link between weight gain and mammals' natural metabolic cycles. Scientists are now wondering whether we might all be slimmer if we didn't eat after dark.

What I want to know now is - does the light of the refrigerator door count?

Related articles by Zemanta

• Just as Beautiful Magazine to Feature Only Plus-Size Models, Ban Dieting Tips (stylelist.com)

Beefed up

Yup, it's true. I've been a bit preoccupied and blogging has taken a back seat lately. Oops.

Unfortunately my back seat has taken this as a signal to spread out and make itself comfy.

Unimpressed, my jeans have staged an intervention.

Jeans: "FAT COW FAT COW FAT COW!"

Me: "What? Who?"

Jeans: "You heard us missus. You're doing it again. You've stopped listening to your body and Inner Goddess has obviously gone AWOL so we had no choice but to speak up. We're not going to let you do up that top button till you start 'thinking slim' again. It was working so well, why are you slacking off?"

Me: "Good question. Not sure. Other things on my mind, probably."

Jeans: All the more reason to get a grip then. Unless of course you WANT to look like that Kenny Everett sketch of Rod Stewart prancing around singing 'If you think I'm sexy' while his leopard skin pants inflate to they point they explode?"

Me: Good point, Jeans, good point. OK, I'll get back on the case tomorrow, I promise. But today's Valentines Day and Mr S is rustling up roast beef, Yorkshire Pud and all the trimmings. Oh, and there's cheesecake for afters.

Jeans: "Brace yourself lads, looks like we're in for another uncomfortable evening then!

Me: "Oh quit you're panicking. What do you think tracksuit pants were invented for? Sport?
. . . "oh yeah, once more from the top....If ya think I'm sexy..."