Back to (slimming) Black

The Jilted Wives Club, comprising Loelia, Juliette and me, lost six stone between us, shortly after we were all kicked into touch by our better (or worse) halves.  

Juliette, in her miniscule hot-pants, was soon pulled by a blind man in Costa's, and then a little later, by two men who could see, and therefore could properly appreciate her pert bum.

Loelia was repeatedly hooted at by lorry drivers on the Launceston A30, as we chatted outside Spud-U-Like. They couldn't miss her Elle MacPherson giraffe-legs encased in skin-tight jeans and long boots, and her thick, brunette Kate Middleton hair waving in their slip-stream. Revered Son at the time awarded Loelia the honour of 'fittest mother in the school'.

Meanwhile, immersed in my diet of misery, fags and Birds Eye Frozen Platters For One, I found keeping the weight off quite easy for a year, and for the first time was able to branch out into coloured clothing!

We were proud of ourselves.

But now I am back to black.

As all women know, black reliably coordinates with itself, and makes you look thinner, as well as not showing the dirt, so I wear the same outfit every day until it smells - each one normally lasts a bit over a week before I put it in the washing basket.  I alternate each black outfit with my blue riding clothes, which I wear every other day until they really smell.    Occasionally I may branch out into navy, and I celebrate summer with a little white, to lift the black.  My walk-in wardrobe as a result is terribly dark, and not very exciting.

This morning, when I came down for breakfast, Esteemed Partner commented, "Black again?"