Spanx for the memory

Wardrobe changes: 3
Ciggies craved: 37
Alcohol craved: 3 litres
Ciggies/alcohol consumed: 0 (v.good)
Public humiliation rating: 5 (no human witnesses, just laughing dog)
Glamour quotient: 2 (good intentions don't count)


7 a.m.:
Wake up determined to make world sit up and take notice today. Long indigo-ink coloured hooded dress with heeled ankle boots the way to stun fellow Athenian commuters with funky, Boho chic presence striding through their midst. With a little help from new Spanx pants (guaranteed to smoothe sihouette and eliminate unsightly lumps and bumps).

7.10 a.m.:
Spanx proving less user-frendly than imagined. At first sight look big enough for average Barbie doll, despite XL label in back (Note to self: remove all incriminating/depressing labels).
But they're highly elasticated - aren't they? A baby elephant can squeeze into them, according to online adverts.
Easier said than done. Baby elephant in ad must be bulimic.

7.20 a.m.:
Manage to get Spanx above knee level. Ease them crotchwards with deep knee bends and series of Sumo-style leg waggles.
Finally, success. Look Mum, no tum! Upper thigh flab a thing of the past. Wobbly buttocks tamed.
Breath only comes in short shallow bursts, but look fabulously streamlined.

7.30 a.m.:
OH asks why my face is going blue, and "What are those lumps above your knees?" (all that suppressed fat has to go somewhere).
Give up, and breathe. Roll of fat appears above Spanx top like second set of boobs.

7.45 a.m.:
Throw dress and Spanx in sorry pile in corner. Jump into smart jeans and deep V-necked top (anything to distract attention from chunky bum). Hurtle out door for the bus.
Am accomplished, dynamic woman of wit and wisdom. Who needs washboard stomach and legs like pipecleaners?
Trip over own ankle. Good thing I bounce.

Spend most of morning commute with arms crossed over chest after weasel-like midget leers into my cleavage.