This morning I nearly lost my pants on the way to work. An on-the-spot decision to run for the 7.20
am bus almost resulted in a very embarrassing situation.
You see the thing about dieting is that it’s a well-known
scientific fact that your clothes get bigger as your bulges get smaller, a fact
that had escaped my mind as I hurled myself across Charminster Road desperate
to beat the bus to the stop.
My arse, once described by my daughter as the size of
Russia, is now more like Russia minus the Ukraine and thus previously snug ‘granny’
pants are prone to tectonic shifts at a brisk pace. So, as I propelled myself across the busy
road toward the bus stop, my knickers had their own separate, simultaneous
downward trajectory over my butt cheeks.
Needless to say, I arrived at the stop in the ‘knick’ of
time. A few hundred yards further and
the bus driver might have been witness to an early morning version of a three
legged race run by one person. Puffed
out and red-faced, I squeezed into a vacant seat with a few discreet wiggles, trying
to shuffle my knickers into a more secure place without anyone else noticing.
And so fat fighters everywhere take heed – if you’ve lost a
few pounds then be sure to check your kecks before trying to break any Olympic sprint
records!
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| Fatties equivalent of a gold medal |
