The Year I Went Pear-shaped: A fat woman's tale of love and insanity

by Tamara Pitelen

  “Oh hiiiii!” she tinkled, “how’s it going?”

  Great. Now she’d be on the phone for about three hours and then who could I pour my angst out to? There was no justice. I turned back to the telly. The black guys had gone and in their place was some young blonde thing sitting in a bath overflowing with bubbles and looking all coy while singing something about not giving up till she got some guy. ‘Tragic!’ I thought till I realised that was kinda what I was doing. Oh the humanity.

  “I know,” said Anita to whoever she was talking to, “it’s all been crazy, a huge upheaval but I think she’s doing remarkably well...”

  “Hmmm, I know, an awful ordeal for all concerned,” Anita continued to whoever was on the other end, “we’re just bloody glad it’s over...sure, just a minute, I’ll put her on, she’s right here...Darla, it’s for you,” she said holding the receiver out to me.

  “Who the hell is it?” I mouthed with a grimace. She didn’t answer, just raised her eyebrows insistently and shoved the phone at me again.

  “Ok, ok,” I grumbled, rolling over and getting to my feet, I took the phone off her and sunk into the armchair.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi Darla, it’s Gordon.”

  Jesus! Gordon. Fuck. I looked at Anita who was smiling smugly back at me.

  “Oh. Hi. How’s it going?”

  “I’m good, look, I really want to see you today. Can I take you out for a late lunch?”

  I glanced at the clock on the wall. 11.30am.

  “Sure, that’d be great. What time?”

  “I’ll pick you up at two if that’s ok?”

  “Yep, great, see you at two then.”

  “Ok, looking forward to it, see you soon.”

  And he hung up.

  “See?” said Anita who was perched on the edge of the sofa. “I knew he’d want to see you. Now, you need to sort this out once and for all Darla, find out whether Talia is anything to him. I can’t stand much more of this. And, for once in your life, be honest, tell him how you feel. Why should you wait for him to do anything?”

  She was right.

  “I know Neets. I’ve got to start acting and stop reacting. You know what? I am going to tell him how I feel, I’m sick of this languishing about hoping he’ll make a move. I’m going to tell him the whole truth and suffer the consequences. No more fucking games and lies. And if he’s not interested fine, I’m gonna move on. Hey, find out if Toga boy has any single friends would you?”

  “Oh stop it, Gordon’s not out of the picture yet so go and give it your darndest. Now, get your arse into the shower, you don’t have much time to make yourself presentable.”

  Christ, she was right again, you had to hand it to the girl. I ran out the lounge and up the stairs to the bathroom to get ready and immediately started wondering what on earth was appropriate dress code for a luncheon with the Man of One’s Dreams at which you planned to bare your soul.

  Chapter 54: Crunch Time

  “We’ll order food a bit later,” Gordon told the waiter, “but if we could start with a drink, I’d like a glass of the house Semillon and my friend will have...”

  Gordon looked at me expectantly while the waiter did what his job title indicated, ie, waited, his pen poised at the ready over his order pad, while I made up my mind.

  “Make that two glasses of Semillon, and a bottle of water for the table,” I said, smiling up at the shy but cute, young man of about 23, probably a Kiwi I thought judging by the jade Maori Tiki hanging around his neck on a strip of leather. He had lightly freckled skin, beautiful long fingers with neat, clean nails and short, reddish blonde hair, a tuft of which was poking out the top of his black t-shirt. I’d always been a sucker for those little glimpses of manliness. A hint of chest hair or a quick flash of armpit coupled with a momentary flexing of long, smooth arm muscle, or the curve of a man’s butt as he walked away. I loved all that as long as it wasn’t obvious and the man in question didn’t realise. For half a second I wondered what it’d be like to sleep with the shy waiter. But it quickly passed, largely because I was sitting across from Man of Dreams.

  He’d turned up at the house just before 2pm in a taxi, explaining that it was impossible to get parking around Darling Harbour unless you were willing to take out a mortgage to leave your car in one of the parking buildings in Chinatown.

  The cab driver had dropped us off at King Street Wharf and we’d strolled down to an outdoor bar and restaurant that overlooked the harbour and was frequented by Sydney’s hippest trendsetters. As we’d walked over to an empty booth, Gordon had nodded and waved to several groups of people.

  “So how’s the shoulder?” He asked once we’d sat down.

  Phew. Start on safe ground.

  “It’s still a bit tender but getting better all the time. I think it might’ve ruined my chances for getting on the gymnastic team for the next Olympics though.”

  He laughed. “Well, there’s always 2022 to aim for.”

  “Yeah, if I could just master those bloody cartwheels, I’d be in for sure.”

  “The scar’s healing too,” he said, looking at my cheek and for the thousandth time since ‘that night’ I absentmindedly ran my middle finger down the length of it.

  “Yep, but it’s never going to go away completely. It’s going to be a permanent reminder of that night, every time I look in the mirror.”

  I could tell he didn’t know how to respond to that but just then the Kiwi waiter returned with our wine so conversation momentarily ceased while he put the glasses down in front of us and went off to attend to another table. I grabbed my glass and gulped down a huge mouthful before continuing.

  “It’s ok though Gordon, a permanent reminder is a good thing!” I said leaning forward over the table towards him. “I don't want to forget that night because it changed me, for the better I think, and the scar is kinda symbolic of that...sorry,” I sat back in my chair again, “...am I being a bit too hippy chicky?”

  “No! No, it’s fine. I mean you’re right. The whole nightmare caused a shift in the foundations of my life as well. It’s one of those events that divides up your life into before and after...” he changed position in his chair, “...like, from now on I’ll think of events in my life as ‘before the crazy butcher’ and ‘after the crazy butcher’.

  “Yeah...” I said but he hadn’t finished.

  “I just find it amazing that you’re taking it all so well Darl, many people would’ve had a complete breakdown after something like that. Or at the very least be getting major post trauma counselling.” He looked at me as if he just asked me a question and took another mouthful of wine.

  “Well, I am getting counselling, I’ve got an appointment to see my counsellor, Tobsha, on Monday. And I’m still having nightmares about it where I wake up covered in sweat, shaking with fear, because I’m sure she’s in the room. And I’ve had to sleep with the light on every night since it happened but I think that’s a pretty natural reaction which will gradually go away...hey, by the way, that reminds me, I still haven’t thanked you properly for the new bed. It’s fantastic Gordon, I’m really, really grateful.”

  He smiled. “It’s the least I could do after that whole ordeal. I just kept kicking myself for not having dealt with her letters so much earlier then it might never have gotten so out of hand...”

  “Yeah, well hindsight’s a great thing eh? In hindsight I wouldn’t have lied about my fake boyfriend, Brad, or...”

  I stopped mid-sentence, catching myself just before admitting out loud to having had a shrine to him in my bedroom. No, even though he’d seen it, I couldn’t bring myself out to actually say the ‘shrine’ word in his company. Better to just pretend it never happened. For now anyway.

  He laughed. “Yeah, Brad Timberlake! That’s hilarious really.” He shook his head at me. “You idiot, what on earth did you go making up a boyfriend for?”

  “I told you! Because I didn’t want you to think I was after you.”

  “Yeah,
but why didn’t you want me to think that?” He said teasingly.

  God. Here was the perfect opportunity to own up. Should I just spill my guts or side step the whole thing. It’d be really easy to make a joke right now and the danger would pass. I bought time to think with another gulp of wine and realised with a shock that I’d almost finished it. I motioned to the waiter to bring another round because Gordon was almost finished his as well. We were both chucking the stuff back like water. I was nervous as hell, what was his excuse?

  He looked at me expectantly, waiting patiently for an answer.

  “Because, Gordon, I was after you but I didn’t think you fancied me and I didn’t want to get rejected. Ok?”

  Bloody hell, I’d said it. There it was, out in the open. And wonder of wonders, I was still alive.

  He threw his head back and laughed. Then he stood up, came over to the seat right next to mine and sat down, pulling his chair right up to the edge of mine, he took my hand.

  “Darla, I am most definitely attracted to you ok?” he said softly. My stomach did a triple somersault ending in a back flip. His face was so close I could feel his breath and my heart was pounding so hard I swear I could feel the blood whooshing around my brain. That was a huge relief to hear but what did it really mean? That he’d be happy to fuck me just like he’d fucked every girl in my senior year plus God knows how many women since then. No, that’s not what I was after. I’d rather not sleep with him at all than just be yet another of his casual shags.

  I turned to face him, looked straight into his eyes and turned on my most sincere voice.

  “I’m bloody glad to hear that Gordon but that’s not what I’m after, a casual fuck I mean. I want you and I don’t just mean for one or two nights. I want to be with you. I want to date you, see movies with you, go on picnics with you, do the shopping with you, sit in cafes with you, eat takeaway in front of telly with you, backpack around Ireland with you... do you understand what I’m saying?”

  He blew out a long breath and squeezed my hand.

  “That’s a big thing you’re saying Ms Manners, I understand that much.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m a woman in love Mr Worsley.”

  Christ, there was no going back now.

  “Ok, so when do we start?”

  “What?”

  “This dating thing, when do we start?”

  “But, what about Talia? Aren’t you seeing her?”

  “No, that’s well and truly over. I know how it looked last night but I swear to God she’d turned up unannounced about ten minutes before you did. I was telling her to leave just as you arrived. I knew full well what you were presuming but I didn’t think it was the right time to put you straight. I wanted to get rid of her once and for all first.”

  “But she was wearing your bathrobe?”

  “That was a surprise to me too, she’d just gone to the bathroom -- to use the toilet I’d thought -- and when she came back she was naked apart from my robe. It was a last ditch attempt to seduce me I suppose but it didn’t work, I told her to put her clothes back on sent her packing.”

  “Honestly?”

  “Cross my heart and hope to die. Yeah, we used to be together but she’s not The One, she’s sly, ruthlessly ambitious, with a mean streak you could land a Boeing on. Nasty things sometimes come in very pretty packaging Darl. Then again, very nice things sometimes come in pretty packaging too.”

  And then he kissed me. Full on the mouth. My stomach resumed it’s gymnastics routine, this time pulling a few other internal organs along with it.

  His lips were soft and he tasted like wine. The kiss started out gently but soon heated up as our tongues met.

  After a few minutes, we pulled apart.

  “That was fabulous Darla, I’d like to do a lot more of that.”

  “Mmm, me too.”

  Our chairs were as close as they could get and his arm was around my back. I let my hand rest on his thigh.

  “I tried to tell you in the hospital,” he said, “but there was never the time. Basically, I’m crazy about you. I have been for weeks now. You’re beautiful, funny and smart and when I’m not with you I can’t stop thinking about you. I’ve even put up a little shrine to you in my bedroom.”

  “You have not! You’re teasing me!”

  “No, I swear I have, you’ll just have to come to my bedroom and have a look for yourself, won’t you?” he said with a sly grin.

  Then he leant into kiss me again.

  Chapter 55: Happily Ever After?

  Dear Darla,

  There’s this guy I really like and he flirts with me a bit, at least I think he does, sometimes I don’t know if I’m just imagining it or not. Anyway, it’s driving me crazy! I want to be with him but I don’t know how he feels. I’ve even started slowly driving by his house and trying to ‘bump’ into him when I know he’ll be out somewhere. What should I do? Taryn, NSW.

  ‘Fess up Taryn, what’s the worst thing that could happen? He turns you down. So what? Life’s too damned short to waste weeks, months, even years, waiting for something to happen to you. Make it happen yourself. And if he isn’t interested, big deal. You’ll meet someone else who will be. In the meantime, what else is going on in your life? What’s your passion? Where do you want to be in the next five years, ten years? Are you happy Taryn? If you’re not, this guy can’t make you happy. Start with you. Then again, what the hell do I know? You gotta figure it out for yourself. You’re the only one who really knows what you should do. No one else can tell you. Certainly not me.

  Trev, or Shoulders as he was now known by everyone, looked at me dubiously.

  “Darl, I’m not sure about this bit where Steve asks Dr Ramswell back to his place for a drink. No gay man I know would offer a potential shag a beer...”

  He said ‘beer’ like it was a dirty word.

  “...I mean, wine maybe, or vodka but never beer, seriously. If I really were Steve and I were trying to get Ramswell into the sack, I’d be whipping up some killer martinis, dry enough to pull his arsehole up into ribcage.”

  “Yeah, you’re totally right Trev, I wasn’t thinking properly when I wrote that bit. Go ahead, change the beer to martinis if you like.”

  We were running through the new script for Love on the Wards. I’d starting writing the show about four months ago, after all who knew every plotline and character from the last ten years better than me? The first thing I’d done was write in a gay storyline for Dr Ramswell and a new character called Steve, a good-looking restaurant manager who’d been shot during a botched robbery and ended up in hospital as a patient of the good Dr Ramswell.

  On the night of the first onscreen kiss, the show was watched by four million viewers around Australia. The highest rating in its history. The next day talkback radio around the country was bombarded with people wanting to talk about it. It was hugely controversial, all across Sydney people were having Love On the Wards parties and gathering in each other’s homes dressed in doctors and nurses uniforms to watch. While in Queensland religious groups tried to boycott the show. One evangelist nut even tried to take down the transmission tower, he just ended up spending a night in the local jail. Even the Primeminister commented on the Love phenomenon during a parliamentary debate. Naturally, the big bosses at Channel Five have been beside themselves with joy.

  It was sad to say goodbye to the girls at Lush! magazine though. There was much sobbing, kissing and cocktail drinking. And I still miss the perks, the free movies, CDs, books, and tickets to gigs, not to mention no more beauty products. It’s not so bad though, in my three years there I’d managed to hoarde away more beauty products than one person could get through in ten lifetimes. Even a Kardashian.

  I had to go though. You can only fain enthusiasm about stories like ‘101 New Ways To Touch His Willy’ for so long.

  So, that’s it. I’m exactly the same weight. There’s been no amazing make-over and no-one’s proposed to me. Although who knows, things with Gordon might work out, it�
��s certainly looking good so far. I love him with all my heart and as far as I can tell it’s mutual. But if we don’t end up as pensioners together, that’s ok too. (Well, kind of ok. All right then it’s not really ok at all but I’d survive.)

  I hope you’re not feeling cheated. Maybe you were wanting me to make a feminist stand and not end up in a ‘girl gets her man’ type story? Maybe you were hoping I’d denounce Lush! mag and its ilk as vile, superficial, mysogynistic crap that promotes low self-esteem in women; keeping us caged in prisons of insecurity. God forbid women actually stopped beating themselves up for five minutes, think of all the industries that would go out of business! Think of all that energy that could be used for other things like, I don’t know, taking over the reins of the world and steering the planet away from ecological devastation and certain destruction.

  Maybe you thought I’d spurn Gordon and go and work as a volunteer for Greenpeace out in Ecuador. Nah, I’m not going to be spurning Gordon but I might go to Ecuador. How I weave my life from here, I’m not sure but I’m excited. I can tell you one more thing as well, no more bloody diets, scales or body shaming.

  The only piece of advice I’ll give from now on is remember that you have all the answers you need, don’t go asking anyone else what you should do with your life. You already know the answer. It’s about loving yourself. Completely and unconditionally loving yourself exactly as you are right now. That is the only secret you ever need to know.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Born in 1968, Tamara Pitelen lives with two cats and the best husband on the planet.

  Originally from Christchurch, New Zealand, she has lived in Japan, Hong Kong, Sydney, London and Dubai. In 2015, she moved to Wiltshire, UK, with previously mentioned best husband on planet and cats.

  In 2012, she launched the first wellness magazine in the United Arab Emirates. Called Awakenings Middle East, it was ‘the guide to wellness and healthy living in the UAE’. By the time you’re reading this, she hopes to have launched a UK version.