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Waistline

In which things are expanding


As it was a nice weekend, I went off for a random amble around the neighbouring county, half just for fun, and half with an eye to shopping, to get a nice outfit for the next time I go out. And so, I found myself in a little independant clothing store near Cleckheaton,* the sort which still has a large part of the shop taken up by a big dressmakers’ workbench for alterations, repairs, customisation, and that sort of thing. That’s one of the good things about indie shops: they will often be happy to do that sort of thing for you, if they have skilled staff.

Anyway, I’ve been a bit suspicious of my waistline lately, so I asked the resident dressmaker if I could borrow her tape measure. Quickly, I slipped it around myself.

That can’t be right.

I am starting from the zero-mark, aren’t I?

I can’t have put a whole FOUR INCHES on since the last time I measured myself???

Breathing in, I shuffled the tape around a bit, trying to convince myself that I must be measuring in the wrong place. Even at the narrowest point, though, I was two inches above what I thought my measurements were. I didn’t realise I was getting that flabby.

* Well, it wasn’t that near there, but Cleckheaton’s a nice name so I’m saying it was.

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