I have the ability to drive myself potty.
For example, I received an invite to a hen day. It was for a relaxing event at a local spa.
a - Jump at the chance to become Tommy free on a Saturday (no offence Tommy) and think about self indulgence and Prosecco.
b - Decline, I am far too busy for such things.
c - Accept, and spend weeks hardly eating anything and worrying how I would look in a swimming costume, next to girls up to thirteen years younger than me and two stone lighter than me.
Have you guessed it yet?
It was c.
Although to be fair, I finally lost five pounds. (The Cake and Bake Show was my day off, and yes I did manage to justify it!)
During the weeks leading up to said hen day, let me explain just how seriously the invite affected me:
I deprived myself of all my favourite, delicious, meals in the office canteen, and stuck to tuna salads.
I watched enviously as Mark tucked into hearty home-cooked dinners, as I nibbled on carrot sticks and lettuce leaves.
I said, "No!" to my mother's desserts. I never do this. Especially chocolate profiterole roll night.
I exercised my heart out at the gym, until my hair was sticking to my scalp. This has never happened to me before.
I weighed myself continuously and sighed. Usually I avoid the bathroom scales at all costs.
I spent days surfing the Internet for a 'miracle swimsuit' which did not cost the equivalent of a small, precious, pearl. Finally I found one.
I looked nervous when skinny, young, friends mentioned the hen do.
I treated myself to a spray tan the night before. Fat looks better brown.
So, dear readers, taking into account all the above, when the day of the hen do finally arrived, let me explain my time frame. Because it was most unusual:
I bathed, without Tommy. It was a rare, relaxing and weird situation.
I washed my hair, this is the norm every day but I actually gave myself time, and wanted to - BLOW DRY. That's right, I did not leave the house with a soggy mess on my head. I made the effort.
I painted my toe nails pillar box red. Alas, this is a neglected area and colour these days.
I moisturised myself from head to toe, such a frivolous activity has been banned from my life these days.
I wore my new black and white sixty's style dress, with brown knee high boots and miracle swimsuit underneath.
And I was ready to rock and roll! Or at the very least, visit a spa with skinnier, younger, friends.
Dear readers, you may think the above way too much preparation, and on reflection, I am inclined to agree. But please allow me to explain, I am neither vain nor high maintenance, but I think I needed to be reminded, sometimes it's okay to care and bother about your appearance, and maybe I do neglect this a teeny bit.
So I arrived at the spa, slimmer, browner, somewhat polished and preened, and slightly more confident as a consequence, especially with the knowledge of miracle swimsuit underneath white robe.
And guess what?
To my great surprise and pleasure, most of the hen party did not jump in pool, with all skinny and young frames on show. We sat around in white robes, drinking Prosecco, and enjoying a spot of self indulgence. Including a fabulous back massage. I did not, I repeat, I did not, take my white robe off all day.
After all that worrying and preparing!
If only I'd known.
Still, at least it made me loose (a very much needed) five pounds.