by Bron | September 7, 2011 10:32 am
Of course the obvious person to blame in all this is Kate Middleton. For no other reason than half her body seemed to be missing when she stepped out of the car on her way to marry William. Did you see that tiny waist? Of course you did. So did New Idea, Women’s Weekly, Cosmo and Vogue. Now they can’t stop talking about it.
Because Kate did what just about every bride the world over does – she lost a heap of weight for her wedding. Unlike just about every bride in the world, however, Kate seems to be keeping her weight off. I think that’s because she exists on a diet of hearty Welsh air, and when she’s totally famished, she nibbles on the rotor blades of Will’s helicopter. I hope Diana’s ring doesn’t slip off her skinny finger and fall down the sink when she’s doing the washing-up one night. You remember the Lara Bingle/Michael Clark diamond-down-the-drain fiasco? Imagine what it would be like with bona fide royalty.
A dear girlfriend is getting married later this year. She’s lost 25kg since Christmas. That’s Christmas 2010. Not 1994. That’s pretty impressive. That’s up there with The Biggest Loser. Which is good for me; I’m already two years ahead on my daily fat allowance. I’m looking for skinny people to see if I can borrow theirs.
I’m one of those people who refuse to spend my life worrying about what I eat. There’s no pleasure worth foregoing just for an extra three years in the geriatric ward.
I’ve been to four weddings in the past five years. Every bride swanned down the aisle with a waist that could measure a totem-pole. Or so it seemed. Yet their grooms looked just like they do every day of the year. Except the look on their face is like they heard that Shaun Cassidy was the entertainment at their reception. They were probably thinking “Where the hell did my wife go?”
Because, as I see it, he fell in love with you when you had those extra 10kgs. He asked you to marry him when you had those extra 10kgs. I’m not convinced that showing up at your own wedding weighing less than Ghandi will guarantee you a long and happy marriage.
I’m totally convinced it will guarantee you some fantastic wedding photos. Photos that you’ll want to shred in two years time when all the weight is back.
At least on this subject I can speak with authority. I was a bride back in the mid-1980s, God help us. All frothy merengue and sleeves that needed a traffic controller. I was a mere 20 years old, and a mere slip of a girl. I had discovered sour cream, soft cheese and pizzas with the lot, but hadn’t had time to eat enough of them for the results of my appetite to show. So hence I got away with being a skinny bride.
Fast-forward 25 years, and I have my second walk down the aisle impending. Except it won’t be an aisle this time, moreso a stroll across the sand on Noosa Beach, but you get what I’m saying.
From the instant that my gorgeous Lover Bloke Alan slid this massive diamond solitaire engagement ring on my finger, I began bleating about my urgent need to lose weight. Get my top-end size 14 arse back to a more sedate size 12.
I’m one of those people who prefers to eat whatever I like and let the food fight it out inside.
As the months counted down, I’d kid myself that I could lose 10kg in three months, in two months, in one month. Dieting’s no piece of cake you know. With my nuptials literally just around the corner, I’ve come to the realisation that I will look nothing like Kate Middleton. And that’s not because I’m blonde and she’s dark. Or because she lives in a palace and I don’t own a crown.
I’ve found myself a perfectly ok dress. I won’t be a bride (be there done that) but I think my ankle-length strapless number will suffice. There’s enough print on the fabric to disguise my offending arse. And of course there’s shapewear.
Or maybe, at 45, I’ve come to realise that it’s the stuff on the inside that counts. Which is good because at the time of writing, the stuff on my insides were lasagne, red wine and garlic bread with extra butter.
What size is that dress of mine again?
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