...and then my boob popped out

May be a slight exaggeration, but it wasn't too far off.

Last week, I had friends over for Friday night drinks. It's something I wish I did more often, but my chaotic life doesn't usually allow it. Luckily for me, now that Glee has moved to Thursday nights, my Friday's are once again MY TIME. Fiiiinalllyyy...

It has been a while in between catch ups with my crew (who have never before been referred to as "My Crew", because well, let's be honest...I'm less ghetto and more like 'Omo' - I whiten and brighten) (and anywayz, they had better get used to it because it's too bloody hard writing out all 10 of their names), so when the RSVPs came back and a few said they would stop by, I went out and bought the best low-fat dip I could find! I then threw my low-fat atrocity dip at my own head and got something totally fat and delicious, and then compromised by adding carrots to the platter. THEN I went to the best cheap shop I could find!!...and got chips and choccie biscuits. Just because I'm watching what I eat, doesn't mean my loyal and lovely friends of 10+ years have to suffer. Plus I figured it wouldn't kill me if I gave in to temptation on the night and had a biscuit. Or two. Or a chip. Or 12. Or a mouth-watering, calorie-filled, juicy, greasy dollop of Pumpkin and Parmesan chunky dip. On a carrot.


I wasn't going to keel over, right? Right!

So Friday night came and a few from "My Crew" came round. We wined, we gossipped, we gorged on pumpkin and parmesan goodness...and, despite the fact that I spent a solid hour devouring dip like I was malnourished and throwing back carrots like it was cool to eat that many carrots actually IN FRONT of people, I found myself in the middle of a slight wardrobe malfunction that can only be blamed on my recent weight loss. NOT on the fact that I'm an exhibitionist. OR that I was a bit tiddly from the wine I was drinking. OR that I'm whorey.

See, I have noticed that I have lost weight. It's been great, to say the least. My jeans are getting looser, my shape has come back, I don't feel the incessant need to mutter the oompa lumpa song everytime I enter a room...man, people can be cruel. While I have noted the changes in my body that have occured over the last month or so, there have been a few things that have happened that really make me realise that damn, I am getting frickin' skinny!!! (In a Kim Kardashian way, of course. Not in, like, a Demi Moore kinda way. My bones are still on the INSIDE of my skin - they're not trying to burst their way out or anything...) (Notice how I said 'frickin' and not a swear word? "Ray" said I swear too much on my blog, so I'm attempting to not poison him for speaking out of turn take his advice and just calm the fuck heck down).

Probably wearing similar pants
didn't help me much growing up... 

Moving on...signs I have lost more weight than I realise:

1. I put on a bangle I have had for many years. It fell right off my wrist. Coincidence?? (Or, says the critical cynic in me, did my previous fat wrist just stretch it out? You be the judge)
2. My hair is growing quicker. You may think that this is unrelated, but I think that the fat used to suck up a lot of nutrients. I also used to be a tacky bleach-blonde, but more recently I have gone subtle blonde with hints of brown and caramel. Of course I realise that going to the hairdresser two weeks ago is the result of the colour change...or is it? You (continue to) be the judge.
3. I had Friday night drinks with friends and my boob (almost, nearly, pretty much) popped out.

Point 3 brings me back to my original story (sorry, I don't tend to digress...much). So all these little things keep happening to me and you would have thought that possibly it was God trying to tell me something, probably along the lines of Heidi, you are looking mighty fiiine these days, and if you don't notice your re-defined curves, missing muffin top and extra millimetre on your hair, then stuff it, I am going to make your favourite bangle fall off your wrist!! 


Well, firstly, joke was on God - wasn't my favourite bangle. Secondly, I probably SHOULD have been paying more attention because as I was chatting and engaging in frivolity with "The Posse"*, I hadn't taken note of sign number 4:

4. If my jeans aren't as tight as they used to be, then it's pretty likely that my tops won't be fitting the same, either. That's all good if they're tight fitting, but Heidi, you like the flowy stuff. You know, to hide the fat rolls. And guess what direction a nice, LARGE flowy top will fall when you've lost nearly a cup size???

*I'm going to refer to "The Crew" in this post as "The Posse" because there were only 3 of them and 'crew', for me, seems like it describes a group of 5 or more. Let's be honest, a 'crew' of 3 homies isn't as bad ass as a crew of 3 would like to think. And my Friday night drinks was totally BAD ASS. Excuse me, but there were carrots and we tore UP that shit!


Not even copious amounts of dip, carrot, chips and chocolate biscuits could keep one of the ladies from wanting to make an appearance without me realising it. Now, remember what I said: I am NOT an exhibitionist. Or a whore. Really important you get that last one.


SO as you gathered, my top gradually falls down slightly, exposing a bra-covered top of the right breast and I realise that the atmosphere is suddenly cooler on my logical-thinking side. Internally, I recoil in horror and scream into the pits of a feverish hell that burns for all eternity. Externally, I attempt to hitch up said top and continue to dip carrot into greasy pumpkin chunks. Now I ask you for your opinion reader, tragic attention-seeker OR the master of multi-tasking?


Eventually I just have to admit defeat and bring up the pink elephant in the room - or rather in this case, the sneaky breast busting out the $10 top. One of "The Posse" admits that she had noticed I had lost weight in the chest region, seeing as the ladies were facing straight at her and were keen to say hi (well, at least Righty was, Lefty has always been the shyer one who has held back more). We all laugh and brush it off, I give my top one last re-adjusting in the hopes that my anatomy will, for once, do what it's told, and the conversation moves on to other, more important, things. Like reality television.


So dip, chips and chocolate weren't my downfall and it turns out I didn't keel over, sure. But I did DIE A LITTLE ON THE INSIDE. Why? Because even though I had cleaned my house top to bottom, used my best chip bowl and platter and even BRUSHED MY HAIR, there was one area in which I failed to impress. Yes, when all was revealed, it wasn't an expensive, cute lace bra, no. You couldn't judge me on that. Of course I was wearing my UNATTRACTIVE SKIN-TONED TARGET BRA. 

Don't stop reading just because I have
no taste...

Ew.


Now a ménage à trois with my girlfriends will NEVER be an option because they KNOW where I shop for UNDERGARMENTS. And I don't necessarily mean Target. I mean The.Nanna.Section.


Guess this means my dreams of rocking out to Katy Perry's "I Kissed A Girl" are now null and void. Nice one, Heidi.