damning evidence

They stared at me, taunting me… ‘I dare you,’ they seemed to say.

I succumbed to the dare. I finally put them on (quashing the unease in my stomach) and looked into the mirror. It felt odd to see my body’s silhouette look like an hour glass. Yes my dear friends, I finally put on my first high-waisted pair of jeans and let’s just say, it’ll probably be my last time.

They were electric blue and I teamed them up with a white tank top (tucked in, of course), a yellow cardigan and beige heels.

‘Do I look slim?’ I sulked to the Mother. I really needed some form of reassurance.

‘Yes, you do. Well… most parts of you do,’ she chuckled in reply.

‘What? Some parts? Which part looks fat?!’ I was aghast. The Mother, in a sudden passionate desire to clean her shoes didn’t seem to have heard me.

‘You look gorgeous,’ the Husband smiled. ‘Very hot.’

‘Right,’ I answered. ‘This hot wouldn’t have something to do with the fact that a particular part of me is emphasized, does it?’

‘Oh erm… heh, let’s just say you’re all woman today,’ He laughed. No, it was not encouraging at all.

I tossed my hair in what I hoped was a stylish shampoo-ad move and sashayed to the door. It was the start of a very self-conscious day. And like most of my life’s drama, today was also one where my digestive system felt inspired to produce the largest amounts of gas within the shortest amount of time. I was grateful that farts don’t come coloured because I would have been surrounded by a constant gaseous rainbow.

Around noon, I was propelled out of my chair (gas is good for turbo power) into a rehearsal with a new voice talent and thereafter, we were cocooned in the recording studio (thankfully, they didn’t die of suffocation), before I headed off to meet the guys who were on site to help create our set for the next video shoot.

I was seated on the couch talking to the chaps when I noticed an odd balloon-like swell beneath my belt. What the hell? Mortified, I tried to flatten my tummy bulge but it didn’t work. The tough jean material was buckling in ugly pouches and I looked at least four months pregnant. Smoothly, I took my laptop and pretended to do a little work…

Have I said yet that I hate high-waisted jeans?

To make matters worse, my stylist had efficiently arranged for me to pick up some clothing from a well-known boutique in what is probably one of our most stylish streets. Right. Embarrassment is not good enough for the office. It must be shared with a well-dressed world.

For once in my life, I was dead focused in doing my job. I picked up the clothes and made a beeline for the station pronto.

Ever noticed how toddlers playing hide-and-seek seem to think that as long as they can’t see you, you can’t see them? They stand in a corner with their eyes tightly shut and are shocked when they’re found. Well, I ‘hid’ myself on the train with a book. Buried between the pages of ‘Where The Wild Things Are’, I’m sure no one saw me in my electric blue-white-yellow damning outfit.

Stepping through the door of my house, I ran into the toilet with tremendous speed.

‘You win,’ I muttered to my pair of jeans as I flung them across the room.

I swear I heard them snigger.


I have a pile of clothing that I keep for my personal morbid fascination. They are damning evidence that some things should never be worn because when I did, I died a thousand deaths. And yet… it only takes a year before the horror fades and I revisit them with renewed hope.

‘Maybe my body’s changed shape! Maybe I wore it wrong! Maybe it’ll work this time!’ I smile in hope.

They never fail to make me feel like the worm that crawled out from under a rock.

Under the glare of reality, I see my faults highlighted with such force I wear black for days thereafter. A sign of mourning the things that can never be and well… because black is slimming. It’s a good ego-booster.

Moral of the story?

Keep on trying but dear god… do it first in the bedroom, not in front of the world.

That said, I’m waiting for a certain friend to finally try on the two newly purchased pairs of skinny jeans that are still lying in the closet. Come on! It’s time someone else had a hilarious story to share.