Weighty Issues

Heaven help me, I don't believe I'm actually about to type this. I'm going on a diet. Yes the world is in turmoil, things are exploding in England, people are rioting in Australia, voting in Chile, starving in Zimbabewe, being shot in China, icecaps melting at both ends, the ground shaking in PNG, Michael Jackson collapsing in Bahrain... and I have the audacity, no self-indulgence, to devote useful minutes to polluting the internet with more useless babble. Clap, clap, BPP.

Let me explain. On Friday I received a Christmas parcel from my mother, God bless her insanely over-compensating self, full to the brim with sugar baked goodness... half of which I have managed to consume in the intervening 2 days out of sheer boredom and a touch of pure gluttony. Gotta watch that - strong tendency towards emotional eating - what would our mate Oprah say? Tsk, tsk, tsk.

But the problem's a little heftier really (haha). Suffice to say my circumstances this year have delivered a lifestyle change I wasn't fully equipped to deal with. For example: how the hell does one go jogging when it's negative degrees outside and snowing? I still can't wrap my head around the absurd notion of partaking in strenuous physical activity ensconced in a wooly layer of scarves, gloves and beanies - it's a world gone mad!

Add to that the fact that on a weekly basis I move almost exclusively between work and the kollegiet, and honestly - neither location is populated by people I particularly care about impressing. Now isn't that a scary realisation? Turns out I need an audience to perform to or I 'let myself go', as Women's Day circa 1950 would phrase it. Best one figures these things out relatively young I suppose... but jeepers Betty - holy shallowness.

Anyway I'll spare you the figures, but let's just say Goodyear will soon be calling to request signage space. Yeah sure stuff still fits, but not in that BPP-ilicious way it used to, and I'll be damned if I'm going to spend the remainder of my twenty-somethings with thigh friction you could unintentionally ignite stray kindling with. I will not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of... my waist (apologies to Mr. Thomas).

I need to find motivation which is independent of an external party (that's right - no more ex-boyfriends BPP!) & I think I have it. My jeans, or more accurately, my recently departed jeans. Ahhh, we had a beautiful symbiotic relationship - I looked hot in the jeans, the jeans looked hot on me - until a fateful Wheel of Goon incident last month when I took a spill down a couple of stairs (thanks to some very illegal interference from the competition - you know who you are Chubb!). Sadly, and unbeknownst to me at the time, the result was a rather large rip under the left buttock which exposed my frilly pink knickers to the world for the rest of the evening (cla-say). Compounding the hilarity was the fact that the guys I was partying with were totally confused the next day when I finally discovered the tear - they were all like, "Oh, we thought that was meant to be there - like a cheeky peek-a-boo thing." Pa-leeeese boys - do I look like a Janet Jackson wanna be?

Now while I realise the average pair of jeans cannot be reasonably expected to sustain violent PRI's (although my tried & true Lee duds have for many a year - bugger it, serves me right for branching out and experimenting with a bloody Danish label), I don't think the extra jubbily helped. So, as I'm certainly not going to be giving up the Wheel of Goon shenanigans, the jubbily will just have to go in order to avoid further such embarrassment.

And there you have it. My 1 point plan for healthy living, mental wellbeing and world domination. It's written here so that when I feel tempted to stray, I can revisit and been soothed but the cool, calm intellect of it all.