Size Matters

WARNING: Blokes stop reading NOW. For girls only!

I always knew that being in the UK would present a body-image challenge to me. Every time I have come here I have always ended up feeling big and frumpy.

Even when I was dead skinny (just after I got married) I still felt large when shopping here. Maybe because I'm automatically a size larger in England. Maybe because I am self-conscious meeting all Mr G's friends and family and being under the microscope.

Yes, I have my insecurities about the way I look. But somehow at home in my comfort zone surrounded by my lovely friends and familiar places I feel OK about myself - on the curvy side of average. I haven't felt any great urgency to rush out and diet or exercise madly. My lazy ways have seemed perfectly fine until now.

Confession Time: (now, really blokes, if you didn't heed my warning to stop reading before, you'd better do it now!!)

... I hate underwire bras so I have still been wearing... my maternity bras *gasp*

... AND Mr G finally spoke up and complained about my unsexy old undies.

He said, Babe I love you, but really you need to go and buy some new undies. These are just sad.

I am simply too fond of comfort. My old stretchy undies and maternity bras are comfy. But it's time to move on *sniff*

Mr G enlisted the help of my lovely pal Maya when we were staying with her. She took me bra and undie shopping at a fancy bra-fitting shop called Bravissimo. It was a bit traumatic but I survived. Eek. Would you believe I am Size 34 Double G???

{YES I am talking about Bras and undies. Uncle Allan you only have yourself to blame!}

I nearly fell off my chair. So now I have some new bras which make my clothes look way better on and are much sexier (the underwires are taking a bit to get used to but Maya made me promise to persevere... and I am). We got some silky little undies to match (which are sexy and comfy, so there you go.)

But after spending a day clothes and shoe-shopping for Mr G (a.k.a Mr Imelda Markos) I was feeling a bit left out. Kind, supportive Mr G said, Why don't we come back tomorrow and go clothes shopping for you?

So the next day we returned to town, armed with our credit cards. Mr G said his aunties had given him some advice on where to take me. We walked past Primark, Next and M&S. We entered a shop called Evans.

Hmmm, seems to be a few older women in here... I was looking for jeans, and headed for the nearest rack... which on closer inspection seemed to start at Size 18.

I felt a prickle of horror go up my neck. Surely not?? My husband has taken me clothes shopping in... A Big Girls Shop???

The skinny 20-something salesgirl smiled condescendingly at me (middle-aged Big Girl that I am). Did I need any assistance??

No! I wanted to get out of here!

Mr G didn't understand my distress, and insisted I try on the size 18 jeans. Of course they swam on me.

Get me out of here!!! I demanded through clenched teeth.

Out on the pavement I ranted through my tears: How could you do that to me?? Am I that big that I need a Plus-size shop?? Is that what the aunties think?? Did they tell you where to find clothes big enough to stretch over your wife's jumbo backside?? I was mortified, horrified.

Mr G explained the misunderstanding. He'd innocently asked advice on some good shops to take me. He mentioned my paranoia about the clothing size difference here. They suggested Next and M&S... but if all else fails Evans has a wide range of sizes (apparently from size 14UK, but I never saw any smaller sizes).

OK. I felt a little better. I forgive you Mr G. So they don't all think I'm a blimp??

(Well, I have had three big babies; I really was huge with Scrag and he's left me with a bit of a jelly belly, so you can understand my paranoia?)

We headed to Next and the first pair of jeans I tried on fitted like a glove and looked great (UK size 16 = NZ size14).

I also got a way-cool jacket and a gorgeous M&S dress. I left satisfied. I've worn the jeans and jacket every day since - dead comfy. But I think I've had my fill of clothes shopping now. Way too traumatic.

Maybe just some new shoes...?? I don't have any issues about my feet, after all.

.......................

Click for the Next installment in our UK Journey: Escape (where I wear my new dress)

FOLLOW ME ON Facebook // Twitter // Instagram // Bloglovin //