Sure there have been a couple of times when I've returned from a holiday and thought, that's fair. I ate a lot of ice-cream, of course my clothing will be a little bit tighter. I stuck to my fried foods only diet - to make sure that all the bugs died screaming in agony before I consumed their little dead carcasses - it's a matter of safety. Yes, sometimes I've taken the blame and admitted that there's been an expanding waistline in the picture somewhere.
But come on. This is going too far!
I order clothing a full size up when I returned from my holiday - I'm not the sort of girl to postpone happiness until I lose weight, or I would be naked by now. No - I buy clothes in the size that my body is. No false hope - no false promises - no crying jags.
Except the clothing doesn't seem to be the size that my body is, at all. And it's not like I gained a massive amount of weight. I expected a few spongy bits to be rolling out the tops of things, I like a nice muffin as much as the next girl, but really? To not be able to fit anything? That seems a tiny bit excessive.
Of course, there are those who tell you that the reason you don't lose weight is because muscle weighs more than fat, and so you're getting smaller by exercising while staying the same weight. If that works in reverse then I no longer have a shred of muscle left anywhere in my body. No - it's all been converted into larger-sized-but-same-weight fat.
Not believable, is it? Either way you spin that sentence out you're bound to see a rolling eye in your periphery.
So, I don't weight much more but my body is bigger. Perhaps I've filled up with air? Come to think of it that may be a bit closer to the truth. Certainly when I tried to swim a length of the pool underwater I had quite a struggle to get down to the bottom. Is it conceivable that I've somehow managed to self-inflate?
Nah. First of all I don't have any puncture marks, and second of all you may be able to inflate a stomach quite easily, maybe even the entire digestive tract, but how on earth would you inflate a thigh? Or a knee?
Yes, that's right. You heard it here first. My knees are bigger.
Or, are they? Today at work as I unzipped my fly so that I could actually sit down, I came up with the only theory that logically covers everything and makes sense.
Clothing elves.
Evil little clothing elves.
The little buggers have been beavering (or elvering) away while I've been sunning myself on foreign beaches, all in order to have a good laugh when I come home and try to dress up in my work uniform.
I bet they're having a great time. Rolling around on the floor, waving their nimble little evil-elf hands in glee.
They've probably made their homes in the skirting boards, and now I'll never be able to get rid of them. They'll come out whenever I'm away for a night or two, make themselves busy, and then scuttle back into their lairs to wait for my reaction.
Well I'm not falling for it Elf-Men! I survived teenage girls in high-school, I can survive you.
First thing on the weekend I'm donating all of my clothing to charity, and I'll going to start to dress entirely in Lycra.
Then we'll see who's laughing.
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