A chapter from my book ‘My Big Fat Fat’ (2018)
A humorous and touching account for those losing or coping with excess weight. With her laugh-out-loud humor, Samantha Dee covers all subjects from beauticians to socks in this easy to read A to Z guide on weight loss, maintenance, and ways to nourish your self-esteem.
S is for… Socks
I know, right!
How did I find a few hundred words to write about fatness and SOCKS? But bear with me, patient reader, with everything else we put ourselves through when we’re fat, you’ve got to hear me out here.
I was sitting on the train in to work the other day with, you know, the fatness and silently considering my outward state.
Super expensive accessories, pro hairdo. The elasticated, black suit-trousers that were a tad too long, the unusually fashionable and very ‘now’ sweater from ‘Phase Eight’ because their size eighteens are that generous (thanks, Phase Eight), a new bra that was cutting me a new boob (one day I’ll get the size right), some old-lady shoes with extra padding—on account of my bad left heel that gave out on account of all the fatness, and I was thinking, Okay. I look okay. I feel okay, this is my ‘base state; this is as happy and as comfortable as I’m ever going to be. I’m all ready to go flounce through my day!
And then, my goddamn knee-high started rolling down my leg.
The bastard! I mean, with everything else going on, just one more thing has got to stick it to me.
My ‘old-lady’ shoes have an elastic bar diagonally across the front – so I couldn’t wear socks (else I’d come off as German Tourist), and I couldn’t wear nothing on my feet, since the memory-foam soles inside my ‘old-lady’ shoes would crumple up into the front and make my dodgy toenail sore.
So, this morning, it was the fifteen-denier knee-highs.
Now these bastards come in two sizes. ‘Roll-Down-Yer-Leg’ or ‘Cut-Yer-Leg-Off-At-the-Knee’ and, you know—depending on what kind of mood I’m in—I’ll pick one or the other.
However, this morning, I think I’ve picked one of each. The other one is staying up in a way that says, Oh, yeah bitch, I’ll stay up here alright, you just wait.
I might pick those kinds when I’m in a particularly rant mood because I ate too many calories the night before and I deserve to suffer.
So, this thing has started to roll down (because I blinked, probably) and my train’s stopping at its destination.
Now, with all these people around, do I just chuckle out loud and say, ‘Gosh darn these things’ giggle-giggle, and hike up the trouser leg and yank it back up again?
Or, do I risk having a ‘Nora Batty’ and just hope no one notices?
I decide for the latter and just hope the roll doesn’t continue down my foot, so it ends up looking like I’ve got one foot dressed and the other one not. (Like I’d care: I once got in a lift with the Boss’s Boss’s Boss, whilst wearing a cardigan inside out, tags flapping in the wind. Of course, he was too gracious to mention it).
On following day, I decided to go all-out, and wear fishnet knee-highs. Oh yeah, super-vamp me baby. I’m all about the vampness.
Except, have you ever seen ‘Alien vs Predator’, specifically when the guy gets shot at with a net that tightens on his face and, well, doesn’t stop? That’s what fishnets do to your feet, if you’re on the heavy side.
I instantly regretted my decision to wear those fishnet jobbies, on a day where I’m traipsing round London all day. My feet ended up looking like pieces of cubist-modern art with blisters. The Tate Modern was all over me about it.
So, day three (yes, this was literally one day after the other) I give in, and do the German-tourist thing and wear socks.
Not just any socks, oh no. Posh, slightly thicker, furry-soled, super-smart socks that I remembered do stay in place and do not attempt to cut my feet off at the ankle.
I’m feeling very smug when I step onto the train for my daily commute at 6 a.m. Until I look down and see that I’ve got one on inside-out and my right foot looks like a yeti wearing and orthopedic sandal.
On day four I give up and wear boots.