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 independent 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 quite near there, but Cleckheaton’s a nice name so I’m saying it was.