So after all my moany, whiny protestations, English Dad actually DID buy me underwear for Christmas (sorry, lonnnnjjjjherrrieeee, you have to say it right). It was very pretty, not too thongy, and actually really nice.
I tried it on.
In front of him.
There was some levering. Actually, there was quite a lot of levering. And a bit of sweating. And a bit of unsightly overspill. Quite a lot, if I’m honest.
Hubby: ‘They don’t fit? *panicked expression*, but they’re a size 12! You’re a size 12! You’ve always been a size 12!’
Me: ‘They don’t. I am. I have.’
And lo, the dawning was slow and painful.
I’ve got a bit porky.
It’s not my fault. I like a gin, admittedly. A gin or three. And fizz! Who doesn’t, right? And a restaurant. Oh I love a restaurant. And I like a cake. And a pie. Oh and those crispy covered peanut things. And a Topic. And I’m an advocate of any problem being solved with a big stew and lots of mashed potato…
Okay so wait. It IS my fault.
And so I decided, rather than take the rather lush underwear back, I would embark on a small period of healthy eating and gin avoidance thus rendering me back in a size 12 and able to wear my new pants.
Well, no. But I thought I’d help out by publishing a few healthy recipes over the next few days to start us off in the right direction. Then we can get back on the gin and forget this ever happened.