The Fat Bloke Diaries

 

Episode Eleven – A Merry Little Christmas

 

Last Christmas someone bought me a new shirt. I like this shirt, and thanked them politely for it just like my mum had taught me to do when, as a young boy, I received yet more clothes instead of the longed-for new bike or puppy. It’s a lovely top, but in my heart I knew that I’d never wear it. It was just that little bit too snug around the belly, a tad too close fitting around the shoulders. As such it was destined to join the horrendous jumpers and novelty musical ties at the back of my wardrobe, the graveyard of unwearable gifts.

 

But that was a whole year ago, back in what we should now begin to call my bad old days. I’ve lost a few pounds since that garment was dumped in reject present hell, so I thought I’d dig it out and try to force the buttons to fasten. Guess what? It fits! Not in a Cinderella’s slipper “ooh, it could have been made for me” kind of way, but the cloth only curves out a little between the buttons, it doesn’t cut in too badly at the armpits and, most importantly, it doesn’t expose any of me between the bottom of the shirt and the top of my trousers.

 

I triumphantly wore it to the office this week, and the vertical stripes emphasised my almost imminent departure from Fat Bloke City, a place where I’d been Mayor for far too long. It raised a few comments from my workmates (“New shirt, Shaun?”, “Are you losing weight, mate?”, “Is there a Shaun-shaped hole in a deckchair somewhere?”) and it felt good to be wearing something other than the shapeless three-button polo sacks that have for so long been my norm. It’s especially nice to have a different choice of attire at this, the most gluttonous time of the year.

 

For years I’ve been able to fill out the Santa suit without requiring any padding. Now all my clothes, not just the red and furry ones, are starting to feel a little looser. I’m feeling pretty good about myself, and I don’t want to waste all the hard work that’s brought me to this state on a few days of socially required gastronomic excess. We’re now well into the Christmas party season, with its glut of pints, pies and party poppers. It’s the time of year that many of us try to get into a lovely little black cocktail dress. I’m no exception, but I usually just end up with a hefty slap for my troubles.

 

For those of us trying to watch what we eat the festive period can be a complete minefield. If we let it this can all too easily become the season of excess. I don’t know how it is at your place but at Fat Bloke Towers we usually manage to stuff four of the biggest meals of the year into the three days starting December 24th. This year I simply don’t want to do that. I’ve made a good start with my weight loss now and I have no inclination to totally blow it just so that I can fall asleep the second that the Queen (bless her) appears on telly.

 

Why do we gorge ourselves at this time of year on such copious amounts of food and drink that we wouldn’t normally touch? And much of it is such fattening stuff too. There must be some way to make these tasty yuletide delights less appealing. Why for instance would we have…

 

 

I’m just trying to find some way to stop myself overindulging, as I fear I will over the next week or two. It’s a shame that I don’t dance at parties, I might work some of it off, but I know how badly I look on the dance floor, especially after a little lubrication. I promised to quit drinking and dancing after that time in Rotherham ‘that we will never mention again’. The one with the tequila. And the traffic cone. And the policewoman.

 

So over the next week or so I’m going to eat what I want – after making sure that I do actually want it – but just be prepared to put in a little more exercise. After all, what else is there to do in the Christmas holidays? I intend to enjoy myself while not going stupid with the food and drink. I’m going to have myself a Merry Little Christmas, instead of the usually extremely merry, big fat lardy one.

 

© 2008 Shaun Finnie

 

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