She's Got My Numbers

In all the excitement at telling you about my depilatory experience, I have entirely forgotten to even mention how the dress measuring went.

A very good friend came with me for moral support (and also to get out of the house - which smelt horrifically of depilatory towlettes). The dress was hanging just by the door - so I pointed it out to her - and the lovely dress designer said "why not try it on again?" What the hell - why not. So I put the dress on again and pranced around a bit in a pair of shoes a size too small and several shades too white.

Then the moment I had been dreading arrived - the time for measurements. Now of course, this is what I had put the effort in with the depilatory cream for. So I was quite surprised (though not in a bad way...) when she told me to shove my jeans back on along with my top. Although it did leave me wondering why I'd bothered with all the depilatory stench and effort.

Anyway - the whole measuring lark was much less painful then I had expected. Other than the numbers, of course - which were a nasty wake up - however I guess the good thing is that now that I've had my numbers taken - it means that I am not allowed to lose weight. Woo hoo. But it also means that I am not allowed to put it on. Boo. (Particularly given that I just lost nearly a stone with being ill... hmmm... there may be issues here).