Cleaning out your wardrobe is such a double-edged sword.
On the one hand: oh, my dear, the feng shui of it. The satisfaction of decluttering. The throwing away of t-shirts you bought when you were fifteen (YES REALLY). The ease of opening and shutting your drawers. It’s all marvellous.
On the other hand: my, that’s a huge pile of clothes I’m not skinny enough to wear anymore.
Which was a bit depressing. My lovely high-waisted skirt danced around in front of me, all ‘oh, you’re going to zip this all the way up, are you? Good luck with that, rolls’. I slapped it down and kept it, because one day, I promise you. One day. Other than that, I was ruthless.
I decided to clear out my wardrobe because still, nothing fits. It’s not like I’m still waddling around with a pregnant belly, but I seem to be a permanently different shape these days. I’ve felt vaguely like it’s time to start again, style-wise. And I have a little money. So I’m going back to basics, and going shopping tomorrow. You had better believe my basics include a Cadbury’s Cream Egg or three, by the way, which probably, thinking about it, isn’t helping much with the rolls.
In the spirit of newness and rolllessness (try saying that ten times fast) I also ordered the 30 Day Shred from Amazon this morning. Jillian and I may not be a perfect fit: you could cut yourself playing the xylophone on her abs, and on mine you’d be more likely to misplace your finger entirely. But perhaps we can be friends anyway. We’ll see.
Don’t be fooled by that grin in the photo above, by the way: whoever has stolen my cheery baby and replaced him with a shrieking, back-arching, food-spitting little demon this week will be hearing from me IN WRITING. I have first-class stamps, and I will use them.