|Pic courtesy: Google pics|
Sometime back I stumbled upon this contest at Indiblogger where you had to write about an instance that made you happy and sad at the same time. Finally, now that the contest is ancient history, I have my moment.
The happy news - I lost some weight.. well not much weight... but some solid inches for sure.
The sad news - the weight loss translated into the loss of a dear loved one. My jeans. If you think I'm too much of a material girl (if I can call myself that at 40, 'girl' I mean) let me tell you it's no ordinary pair. It's my newest possession, about a month old (that's no age for anyone to be declared dead) and it was love at first sight. It was the perfect blue denim with these cute shiny Swarowsky things at the sides - a real prized possession. Besides it cost almost 4K (The Husband must NOT read this). And now, sigh!, it's a misfit.
According to the 'think positive' philosophy that I'm determined to follow I must concentrate on the happy thought of the weight loss.. but it's really too early to raise a toast, if I'm honest. These vacations I piled on calories like never before -- total lack of exercise plus FOOOOD. How I binged and how it showed.
So what I've lost is just the tip off the four-kg fat iceberg I piled on. Can you believe that .. four kgs in two months! Damn that ice cream, that kulfi, that Lakhnawi chaat and those ghee steeped paranthas. What's worse the voice of my conscience (that's my mum) was quiet because she was busy managing work and my not-too-well dad. She had a guilty suspicion she'd driven him to falling ill by her constant nagging about his weight. You see she's the conscience of the entire household. And so, though she did bring up my weight, she wasn't really in form.
Back from Lucknow, as I browsed at Shoppers the only T shirt that fitted me was a bright red one... unfortunately it bore the inscription 'I love my bump'. The only bumps I had then were goosebumps.
I have been slogging it out most conscientiously at the gym since that fateful day.. trying to squeeze in 6 days a week plus a short walk when I can. And look where it's landed me.
This pretty friend of mine will now be relegated to the dark confines of the they-don't-fit-me-anymore clothes' cupboard, waiting to be worn again some day. Only I can't but hope I never fit into this one.. or do I?