This morning I got dressed for work, only to find my dress a bit tight.
I just looked a bit lumpy. You know what I mean, it looks like your fat is making a break for it. Now I own a slip that I’ve never worn before, in fact I’ve never worn a slip ever, so I took my dress off and popped the slip on.
Things were good. The slip is tight, flesh coloured and hardly pretty. But it contained the excess me, like a hard-working sausage casing, so I threw the dress over the top and left the house.
My dress was looking better. Smoother. All was well. I felt pretty sophisticated wearing a slip, I have to say, like I’d joined a secret club. I exchanged knowing glances with other women my age, although with hindsight I was just staring at strangers with my mouth open.
Walking to the station, something wasn’t right. My slip, possibly because it was on the tight side of small, was wriggling skywards. I reached under my dress, exposing more thigh than I’d have liked, to yank it down. But where was it? It had disappeared. I started to doubt myself. Did I even put the slip on? Am I still asleep? Oh shit, that’d be bad. What if I turn into one of those sleepwalkers who rack up huge credit card bills from unknowingly internet shopping?
Anyway, I kept walking, feeling less sophisticated. I could now feel that my slip had risen right up to my chest. It was all bunchy.
I pulled my dress up, thinking I’d quickly find my slip and yank it down. It took ages, seriously, and I realised with horror that in my haste I’d hoisted my dress waaaaaaay too high. It was higher than my pants. And they weren’t nice pants either, they were tiny (not in a good way), flesh coloured and nearly worn right through on account of them being made when I was in my twenties. How the hell did I do that?? Shit.
Did I mention it was peak hour and there were people everywhere? OK so it’s the North Shore of Sydney so hardly a huge crowd, but still, it feels like a crowd when your dodgy pants and cellulite are on show. Shit again.
People, bless em, were turning away out of politeness. School kids were laughing. I desperately tried to bring all my clothes back to where they belonged. But I kid you not, my hands, which are normally pretty adept at, you know, grabbing things, just could not make contact with my clothes. I didn’t know rising panic turned your fingers into pencils. I threw my bag on the ground, its contents spilling everywhere. Normally people help by picking things up, but remember they were all trying to pretend not to see me. Except for the schoolkids who wouldn’t help you anyway.
Very aware that my revealing, threadbare pants and my gut were on full show to a train station of people, a miracle happened. All that mad scrambling meant I soon (but not soon enough) managed to pull both the slip and the dress right down. Yay!! I could go back to feeling sophisticated – I had dark sunglasses and everything!
I started hurrying to the other end of the platform, where I could start afresh with a new crowd of commuters.
I took a few steps and tripped over absolutely fucking nothing, straight onto a really short person with alarming hair who broke my fall. “Oh no! That woman I was pretending not to laugh at, the one with a penchant for public nudity and old pants, just lurched onto my alarming hair.”
Was your morning better than mine? Comment below!