I have a confession: sometimes, while driving long distances – or even during a particularly slow day at work – I daydream about seeing the boys (and some of the girls) I spent my high school and early university years with and imagine how they would react when they saw me.
Perhaps I should explain. About a year ago, I lost some weight. Actually, I lost a lot of weight – 25 kilograms, to be precise (about 55 pounds for y’all in the States). Though my weight fluctuated a fair bit during high school, I was never overweight though I was convinced I was enormous – a fact not helped by a seemingly school-wide obsession with my butt… One boy I “dated” (read: text messaged a fair bit and occasionally walked loops around the school grounds with) would actually sing Chingy’s Right Thurr whenever I walked by (remember Chingy? Those were the days).
But then I got to university and, like so many of my forebears, started to put on weight (I blame the Indian takeaway at the cafeteria which sold butter chicken and rice for $5. Seriously. I’ve never again come across such a bargain-priced curry. Not even when I was in India. But I digress). Unfortunately, my weight-gain coincided with a falling out of sorts with many of my school friends, most of them of the male variety and one or two of them of the crush/the-one-that-got-away variety. I saw them a couple of times in the intervening years and, each time, I felt acutely aware of the weight I’d gained in the interim (and, though I know they wouldn’t have cared, particularly, I don’t kid myself that they didn’t notice).
Early last year, I decided I’d had enough. For the record, my decision didn’t have anything to do with boys: I wanted to feel good about myself again (and, more importantly, return to spending ridiculous amounts of money on clothes). I joined Weight Watchers and, as much as I hate to sound like an advert, the weight really did fall off. I was down to my goal weight in no time, I hit my secret, heretofore in-my-dreams-only goal weight a couple of months later and then to I-didn’t-even-realise-I-could-get-to-this-weight a few months after that (don’t worry, I’m still well within my healthy weight range). Needless to say, I was pretty stoked.
But – even though I know I shouldn’t care – there’s still a part of me that wants to see all those people who once secretly judged me for putting on weight and see what they think now. Preferably, it would be on a day when I was feeling pretty good, my hair was straight and my skinny jeans were on (although, with my record, my run-in would inevitably take place as I stopped at the supermarket on my way back from Body Beautiful, sweaty and in my bad tights, not my super-flattering Adidas tights that I would happily wear everywhere). Sometimes, I even imagine shouting “BOO YA!” in their stunned faces, though I’m not sure where that came from as I’ve never said “boo ya” to anyone, ever. And, yeah, I’m aware that they probably wouldn’t care very much at all, but to be honest with you, I reckon even the smallest of double takes would feel pretty damn good.
Unfortunately, I don’t seem to have my sister’s knack for running into every person she’s ever met every time she goes to the mall so for now I’m going to have to enjoy the occasional double takes I get from strangers – even if they do tend to be from women who double back to ask me where I bought my shoes (though that feels pretty damn good, too).