Cherries and other dangerous things.

A few months ago I noticed I was putting on weight. My tummy was a little rounder, my thighs a little plumper and my breasts were kind of spilling out everywhere.

I do not like being overweight. But I also struggle to diet.

I tried to cut down on carbs, exercised more than usual, said no to the second slice of cake, and stopped stealing the cherries from other people’s cocktails.

That thing on the scale did not move at all. My clothes were all too tight.

And so I went shopping.

It was time for a new wardrobe.

Girlfriends. You know that thing when nothing looks good? NOTHING. It’s the most demoralising feeling in the world, trying on stuff, barely looking in the mirror, hating your body, hating every single store, hating everything.

Until I tried on a pair of the most beautiful bellbottoms in the world. So divine. And I know it’s very sixties but I love bellbottoms and I just had to have this pair.

Even though they were two sizes too small for me.

‘I’m going to buy them,’ I told my friend, lying on my back, sucking in my stomach, desperately trying to zip them up.

‘You can’t,’ she said, ‘They’re too small for you.’

I bought the bellbottoms.

And then we went out for brunch. French toast, delicious, extra syrup, strawberries, a little cream, more syrup.

But I did not have a cappuccino.

And that night I said NO MORE COCKTAILS.

Not just the cherries, the actual cocktails.

Reader. It’s been three weeks.

The bellbottoms fit me.

Almost. I mean, they’re still a little tight, maybe one size too small but with another week of not drinking, they’ll be fine.

I feel good. Water is lovely. And refreshing. And healthy.

I do not miss Negronis or Martinis or Margaritas or Mojitos one little bit.

Also, did you know, there are zero calories in whisky?

And the 12 year old Highland Park is very nice.

Now I just gotta get this zip up.

If only I could see straight.


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