I hate summer.
It’s too hot. Too sticky. I wake up every night feeling like I am being gently cooked.
And as if that isn’t bad enough, I’m size 18. Probably. I don’t actually know for sure, because the prospect of trying on clothes in the changing rooms fills me with so much misery that I’d rather just risk wasting money by guessing my size instead.
Being obese adds so many more horrors to the usual discomfort of the summer weather. My thighs threaten to catch fire at any moment due to the agonising friction of them rubbing together when I walk. I hate leaving the house because the outside world is full of skinny people wearing cute summer clothes and I am there roasting in my size one-million jeggings which are virtually new but already covered with bobbles because of my stupid kebab legs. The only way to combat my weight is to diet and exercise but that’s torture when it’s scorching outside and social occasions tend to consist of eating and drinking cocktails. Also when you’re a lazy bitch who sleeps all day and plays The Sims all night…
Still, that thing people say about how you eat less in the heat is a lie – at least for me, who spends most days sitting at home alone with food as my only company. Well, I suppose there’s my cat too, but she is too beautiful and intimidating.
Being size 18 in the summer sucks.
Well, being size 18 any time of the year is miserable, but at least in the winter I can at least take the tiniest bit of consolation from the fact that my layers of blubber keep me warmer in the cold. In the summer, I can’t exactly shed them. Instead, I have to wander round with my built-in sumo suit, covered up as much as possible without melting to death because I don’t want to display my mahoosive legs and bingo wings.
I’ve gained weight consistently over the past 5 years. And yes, I know that’s my fault. I eat too much. I eat crap food. I drink a lot. I barely move. I take full responsibility for that, but this is my blog and I am allowed to complain about my weight here, so I will!
So every year I’ve chucked out my summer fat-clothes, feeling confident that I will not be fat for another summer – that “this time next year” I’ll have the body I want. And every year I’ve had to buy even bigger summer fat-clothes, and I chastise myself once again for letting it get to this point. Classic Lozzy.
Today was judgement day. I had to go to Primark, because I am unemployed and don’t want to spend any more money than necessary on clothes that I hope will be too big for me in month or two. Primark is so depressing. They’ve started stocking size 4 clothes so I get to be even more depressed sifting through those tiny things in the hope of finding a size 18. They never seem to have the size I want, though. I wonder if people must be gaining weight at the same rate as me because they had 16s and 20s and every other size but size 18s were few and far between. At least that’s what I tell myself to make myself feel less awful. Misery loves company and all that. You know what’s even worse? When there’s a size 8 on a size 18 hanger. Every damn time!
So today I was forced to rummage through the clothes racks to find anything I deemed “passable” to wear while it’s this hot. Not clothes I like, per se, just clothes that will do. I don’t even care if I look fashionable anymore because everything makes me look frumpy anyway. I just overcompensate with jewellery and make-up. Usually I will wear my leather jacket because I always feel badass in a leather jacket, but that’s not an option when it’s 500 sodding degrees outside.
As expected, my soul was gradually crushed by rack after rack of tiny clothes that would have looked so perfect had I not gained 100 stone. The only shorts they had in my size were “stylishly ripped” which would have been no good for me because 1) they looked stupid and 2) I would have ended up ripping them even more because I am a fidgeter and would likely pull at them as if I were a cat. All the nice shorts came in every size except 18. Literally.
I hadn’t felt that miserable since the bra-shopping debacle of April 2017. Same shop. Summer was just not made for me. I actually felt sick. How did I let myself get this way? 5 years ago I was so close to my goal body and then A-levels and university happened and I’ve almost doubled in size. I’m furious at myself.
I ended up buying 5 slightly different variations on white t-shirts. Whatever. I am never going to look how I want to look so I might as well just wear glorified carrier bags.
My style is what I affectionately refer to as “cartoon-character-chic” in that I tend to buy 5 identical or very similar tops and wear them with the same jeans all the time. I have been rotating the same 5 checkered-shirt-‘n’-black-t-shirt combos since January. Yes, I do own a washing machine. At least the good thing about checkered button shirts is that they don’t cling to my fat rolls and when I do eventually lose weight I can get away with them being baggy and procrastinate clothes shopping for a little bit longer. And I suppose I don’t have to spend too much time planning my outfit each day because I’ll always look the same.
But now, for the torturous summer, I must forego my checkered shirts and jeggings in favour of white baggy shirts and cropped trousers so I don’t end up in a puddle on the floor. And cropped trousers look weird on me because I’m short. A cross one must bear in this heat. Sigh. Short and fat – fabulous combo!
Anyway, welcome to “My Supersize Summer” – a series of blog posts in which I rant about being fat (surprise surprise!). If you don’t want to read my whiny posts then look away! This is probably going to be my life until I finally get the motivation to sort my life out.
I would just like to say that this series is a reflection of my personal feelings about myself and my experiences and is not intended to cause offence to anyone else who is size 18 or unhappy with their body. I’m sure you all look fabulous – I just like complaining about my own body!
I hope you’re all coping with the heat better than I am! Have a nice weekend!