The right size or the right fit: A surprise workout in a dressing room.

”The right size or the right fit?”

A few weeks ago, I was talking to my nutritionist about the benefits of fast walking for lowering stress and she insisted one of the best low impact exercise for lowering stress is a long leisurely stroll where you actually have the time to enjoy the scenery. I politely nod to demonstrate agreement while privately disagreeing. If you’ve read this Post, you know I am more of a break-a-hip type of exercise person than a breathing-practice one. Nevertheless, I decided to give the leisurely stroll a try. Plus, where I work there are plenty of clothing stores to browse from. Personally, I think there is nothing sadder than looking at things you can not afford. But then again if you’re gonna be broke for a while you might as well make peace with it and make it look like you’re one of those very, very difficult people on a mission to find that perfect “coup de coeur” (read extremely broke). And if the sales clerk tries to pester you, you tell them: «Well, I am looking for something very particular. Once I’ve found it, I’ll be sure to let you know». Naturally, saying the whole thing with a Brittish accent would certainly give you more credibility.

”You’d need to be a clothes hanger or a broom stick to fit into this size. Having pliable bones may also greatly help.”

During said leisurely stroll, my steps somehow led me to Aritzia. Naturally, I started browsing their pants section and became super excited when my eyes fell onto the most perfect pair of high-waisted pants in a slightly stretchy material. I’ve been dreaming about a pair like this for ages. So I decided today was my lucky day. Thinking I was probably a size 6, I grabbed a few colours and headed for the changing rooms. There was already a lovely sales person on location manning the dressing room with the appropriate frozen smile platered across her face. Who can blame her? Dealing all day with people who refuse to face their size all day long can be taxing.

”Sizes are not really important because our bodies change. Pursue the right fit not the right size”.

Little did I know I would get a break-a-hip type of workout in the dressing room in the form of trying to wrestle my frame into a size that claimed to be a 6. I couldn’t even get it up to my waist. For this to fit me I’d need to either be a hanger or a broom stick..or maybe have pliable bones..! There is just no other way. How can that happen? Last week at old Navy, I was a solid size 6 with end of day bloat and all!  I was crushed. After a couple of painful thoughts, I decided to ask for a size 8 thinking to myself: ”It’ll probably be too large but…”. The relief expected was not to come since surprise while I could pull it all the way up I couldn’t zip it up. And believe me, I tried. I had to take a couple of minutes to give myself time to digest that newsflash: The 8 did not fit either.

”To me, if there’s room on the fllor for double zeros, there should be room for sizes 8 and up….But then again, I suppose a size 10 would take up so much room, the whole thing would fail to look like a minimalist closet (Insert eye rolls).”

I debated if I should just get out of there comforted in the idea it was their fault, not mine. Their size 6 was clearly a double zero in denial. But then again the fighter in me (or the glutton for punishment) decided to stay and ask to try on a 10. To which I was answered by the sales clerk: ”I’ll check but you might have to order it online. Is that all right?” Naturally I nodded in approval. What else was I going to say? Your size 6 is a lie and fetch me the manager while you’re at it? Certainly not! Upon trying it, the size 10 was way too big and made me look like a sack of mashed potatoes. 

So all in all, I went into the changing room full of hope and came out in great despair. My world of medium sizes had been shattered. While thinking about the whole ordeal, I couldn’t help but notice that only what was considered small sizes were displayed on the floor. To me, if there’s room for double zeros, there should be room for sizes 8 and up.  Where is the logic in there? But then again, I suppose a size 10 would take up so much room, the whole thing would fail to look like a minimalist closet? Go figure!

Lessons learned: ”Sizes are not really important because our bodies change. Pursue the right fit not the right size”.

These pants were such workouts that I am now considering buying them as replacement for my workout dvds. You see, it wasn’t a complete disaster after all….

What about you dear readers? Have you had similar experiences? Please do share! Bisous!

 

A GOOD SELFIE CAN SAVE LIVES: IN DEFENSE OF THE SELFIE

“There is nothing a good selfie can’t cure including a shitty day!”

Picture this: You’re in a restaurant, your food is getting cold, your husband is this close to murder you, neighboring tables are starting to give you the look usually reserved for unaccompanied children but yet, here you are, still trying to take that perfect selfie. This has been a constant dilemma of mine: Should I capture this moment or enjoy it? (Go ahead and say a little prayer for me, I’ll wait…). I can not tell you how many times I agonized over this or should I say my poor husband agonized while watching me try out every corner of our home, phone in hand, in search of perfect lighting.

Actually, there is only one living being in our household that seems to always get good lighting: Our cat, Cleo 🙂

IMG_20190209_114510
“Cleo, our lighting expert, doing what she does best which is nothing”

It’s not unusual for me to go to my selfie folder when I am depressed or low in search of pick-me-up. It brightens my mood right away. When I recently changed my phone I had only one requirement: It has to be able to take good selfies. That was my only requirement. 

“It’s the silly stuff, moments of unguarded happiness that usually bring the most joy.”

A good selfie can literally save lives. I don’t know about you but when I am having a shitty day and somehow manage to take a good selfie it certainly makes me feel like the day is not entirely lost. Below is a few selfies that never fail to crack me up 🙂

Pic 1: Me trying to act sexy…epic fail…I look more like a drunk pervert:)

00100lPORTRAIT_00100_BURST20190126135558856_COVER
“Me trying to look sexy but looking more like a drunk pervert”

Pic 2: Cleo overstepping her boundaries as usual thinking she is the queen of the household and as such deserves to be in every picture!

IMG_20171126_141522 (1)
“When Cleo decides it’s her turn to shine”

Pic 3: Cleo trying to play dead so we can rush to rub her belly. In my next life I want to come back as her, obviously. And next time I want a belly rub, I think I’ll do the same:)

img_20181230_201420
“How to get a belly rub: Play dead with your belly up”

What about you guys? Do you have favorite selfies? Do you use your selfies to lift your mood? Feel free to share! Gros bisous!

Ensuring your happiness: Asking for what you want

”…If there was ever an Oscar for insisting on telling me what I absolutely don’t want to hear, I believe my family members would win it.’

I believe in establishing protocols for recurring activities, especially when other people are involved and by other people I specifically mean family members.

Why? Well, because this group of people tend to be high risk meaning they have the tendency of telling the thruth combined with a very low tolerance for bullshit. If there was ever an Oscar for insisting on telling me what I absolutely don’t want to hear, I believe my family members would win it. This can be grating long term, especially in days when I really need to be happy. Which can explain why I usually go to great pain to establish some kind of protocol when dealing with the special people in my life.

Situation no 1:

When Me and hubby are watching TV.

Context: So we are watching some random TV show and a super hot chick shows up in a random scene. My jealousy gets the best of me and I start bashing her (I know I should take the high road but I just can’t seem to, so I am allowing myself to wallow in despicable behaviours).

Me: ”Oh my God she is way too skinny….”

The hypocrisy! Considering I just can’t seem to lose these last pesky 10 5 pounds and the said woman is pretty perfect.

Husband: ”Complete silence

Me: ”She’s too muscular….”. Did you hear what I just said?

Hubby: ”I did! What do you want me to say?”

Me: ”Well, let’s see…you could start by saying that she is way too skinny and that I am hotter than she’ll ever be.”

Hubby: ”You’re kidding, right?”

Me: ”Okay, new protocol alert: When a super hot girl shows up on the screen and I bash her, you have to reassure me and bash her in equal measure…if not more.”

Hubby: ”Are you serious!!!?? You’re impossible!”

Me ”But you love me, don’t you?”

Hubby: ”Yes, honey, you’re the most beautiful woman on the planet and I do love you”.

Me: ”I am touched! Thank you honey, I love you too ”.

Situation no 2

I am out shopping with my beloved ”foot-in-mouth husband”.

Context: The sun is shining and I am feeling lucky. I am at one of my favourite stores and I am grabbing stuff for the changing room. Of course, I only pick medium sizes (I used to be a size small but lately being human just won’t let me go back to that sizeOf course, if you ask my husband, he won’t stick to that story).

By now I am heading to the changing room and start trying stuff on. Dear husband, ever the good Samaritan, comes running all helpful and hands me some sizes.

Hubby: ”Here honey!”

Me: ”But these are all large sizes…”

Hubby: ”Yes, I know, just in case….”

Me: ”Oh you mean just in case I forgot I was fat?

As you can see the poor man can’t win here.

Hubby: No, no, it is just that sometimes a larger size may look better!

Of course, like most people whose sole desire is to do good, he is forced to explain himself as if doing good demanded an explanation of some sort. But we all know in the real world, doing good comes with heavy consequences....

Me: :Well, I am not here to look better, I am here to feel better…”

Hubby: ”What? But?”

Me: ”Quick memo: when I am in the changing room, you are only to bring me sizes ranging from small to medium and nothing else.”

His eyes ran quickly up and down the dress I was trying. And yes, I was spilling out of it.

I stared at him for a long, long time and took a very deep breath.

Me: ”And yes, I don’t care if I look like an overstuffed sausage.”

The man seemed lost and I don’t blame him. But sometimes feeling better is more important than looking better. Don’t you agree?

So like I was saying if you want to be happy, you have to ask for it, you have to let them know how you like it. Nobody can read your mind and even if somebody could, they wouldn’t because people are naturally self-centered.

What about you, dear readers? Please tell me I am not the only who does that or I’ll feel like a self-centered little person.

Thank you for passing by and Bisoux.

THE SADDEST ART CLASS I EVER TOOK

“What we often call art or see as magic usually hides a debilitating amount of work.”

I’ll never forget the day I attended my first drawing class. I know it sounds like I am about to relate a death scene but I can’t help it. I’ve always wanted to learn how to draw but somehow never got around to it. In retrospect considering how long it took me to actually set foot in an actual art class I am forced to recognize that maybe I just wanted to indefinitely entertain the idea of drawing. Nevertheless the day of the class I was so excited  I could hardly wait to leave work. In fact I spent so many hours daydreaming about it I actually forgot to buy art supply and had to borrow a sheet of paper from a couple of lovely classmates. I could already picture my drawings leisurely hanging on every wall of our little home with friends and family deeply impressed and throwing around sentences like “Oh my God, you did that? You are so talented” with me trying really hard to fake that deep layer of intelligent detachment usually required from famous show dogs. Sadly those happy dreams were to be savagely crushed.  I was the first one to arrive and found a stern-looking little lady arranging class materials. I prayed to God she was just a very helpful student and not the actual art teacher I’ve fantasized about about the entire time.

“The art teacher looked more like a retired math teacher from the 50’s.”

You see I was either expecting this:

Idris-Elba
“What an art teacher should look like…”

OR this:

Why can’t my art teacher look like this…

Prayer unanswered. The art teacher looked more like a retired math teacher from the 50’s.

“…She asked us to draw a second shoe…. I ended up drawing something that couldn’t possibly come out of a healthy human mind…”

Moving on to the actual setting. The classroom was located at the very end of an extremely long and impersonal corridor. This corridor was so bleak it could easily qualify as a star feature in a big-budget horror movie. I was clearly not expecting pictures of grand masters hanging down the walls but a couple of students artwork could have added some much-needed appeal. The classroom itself was a very large and cold-looking room with class materials heavily piled up in a remote corner. There were big windows but a tall and dull building was blocking the view.  A large and square table sat in the middle of the room like a sacrificial stone in a dark dungeon.  

More details on the teacher. There was no whimsy, no magic at all in the way she dressed. I mean you’re an artist for God sake! Do something out of the ordinary even if it is just wearing your clothes inside out! Her look and matter-of-fact behavior was a giant slap to my tortured artist spirit. If you’re short of ideas at the very least throw a can of paint on your shirt, forget to wash it and wear it the next day. I was open to the possibilities of meeting a free spirit but what I had in front of me did not in any shape or form represent my idea of what an art teacher should look like.

“I blame those movies featuring stylishly starving artists lugging around big portfolios that look like they’re smuggling giant pita breads.”

She took the magic out of the entire thing. I felt slightly rushed. I mean I thought we were going to do some theory first like talking about the grand masters and possibly crack the mystery behind Mona Lisa smile but sadly that was not to be. She reviewed the class material and put us to work right away. Isn’t art supposed to be magic or something? Or maybe the magic only happens after years of practice. But then again isn’t it always like this in real life? What we often call art or see as magic usually hides a debilitating amount of work.

As practice, she asked us to pick a shoe from a giant shoe pile and try to draw it. I somehow ended up with a drawing of the magic school bus. She asked us to draw a second shoe. This time around, setting all dignity of manners aside I rushed to the shoe pile and literally jumped on what to me looked like the simplest shoe style of all time. A classic pair of kitten heel pump. I still ended up drawing something that couldn’t possibly come out of a healthy human mind. And yet, each time, she would take a long look and say the same words “keep going, you’re close”. I must admit a couple of family member did try to warn me but I didn’t listen. I hyped myself up by thinking I was naturally talented. I was looking for shortcuts and found none. The advice people offered seemed so simplistic that I chose to ignore it.

In the end, I was forced to realize there were great discrepancies between my idea of what an art class should be versus the real thing.  By the end of the class she said something that profoundly resonated with me. In essence she told us that ‘As in any creative process, when drawing an object there is always a choice even if purely unconscious made by the artist on how to best render the said object based on what the artist is trying to say”. I guess that’s what makes art so subjective. It is always a reflection of oneself. Even when we choose to render our deepest emotions, we still feel the need to put some kind of order into the chaos. The very fact of picking up pen and paper automatically forces one to streamline the process. Although you won’t see me exposing my chef-d’oeuvre in any gallery any time soon I am happy to report I did manage to learn something…after all….:)

Don’t be shy dear readers and do share your budding or tortured artist experience:)