Don’t judge a book by its cover

… because the back blurb will reveal more than you think.

Though it sounds relatively sad, 2 weeks ago, I was kindly asked to sacrifice my ultimate guilty pleasure, for just a couple of days. As painful and challenging as it was to delay my monthly nail visit – because I doubt I’d have surpassed the umpire to break the rules of the game with my witch fingers – it was well worth it to be able to play and support my old team, Cuffley, in an overdue match of netball.

Although I lacked a considerable amount of power behind each of my passes, as well as every ‘accidental’ shove from my opposing player feeling like a very real, very tall, 6 foot hammer being slammed against my side, I have to say I thoroughly enjoyed again wearing the so familiar GD velcroed to my chest.

Until I took an almighty blunder to the floor that is…

Possibly one of the first and earliest of our long list of life lessons, taught and reiterated from the wise woman that was your old year 1 teacher, was being to not judge a book by its cover. Very easily done and we definitely all did it because how else were we supposed to select the most outrageously flamboyant looking book that would impress the rest of our class during silent reading time.

Books aside, I definitely felt like this life lesson had more significance to me 2 weeks ago, than it ever has done before (though I’m sure I’ve probably overlooked some incredibly good books in the past due to their dull looking nature and should have taken more of this lesson into account, then!)

As we don’t have eyes in the back of our head, or the ability to turn and bend in the ideal direction to get a good look of what’s going on down the backs of our body, we generally overlook to what we could potentially look like from behind. As long as your make-up’s tidy, your shirt rests comfortably on the top of your belt and your nipples aren’t visible through your top, we’d happily be on our way, not knowing that your skirt is tucked into your knickers and revealing half your butt cheek or that there’s still a large dollop of gel left unincorporated with the rest of your hair.

Taking this inability on board, upon arriving home and completely overdramatizing the situation to my mum, I asked her to take a photo of my back after my almighty crash to the floor during netball, 2 weeks ago. This way, I could assess the damage and then no doubt post the photo on social media in the hope to lure some kind of sympathy and attention to it potentially looking like I’d been involved in some kind of Revenant bear attack. (I’m definitely still a child!)

The picture never went on my social media pages. Why? Because I was mentally too busy with my head in the toilet, throwing up at the site of the picture because I had no idea I looked like such an old haggard corpse.

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I’m not going to sit here and start proclaiming this picture has miraculously changed my perspective of being skinny, but it has fortunately been a very alarming wake up call (but unfortunately the pictures don’t quite do justice to my pitiful scratches I thought I was going to see!)

Though I will no doubt scrutinise the front of my body and find fat pockets in places I wish there wasn’t, I have at least now for the meantime realised that the above skeleton isn’t what I want viewing from my back. Realistically, I’m not going to start greedily ingesting the last of the crumbs in the biscuit tin or devour the remnants of the leftover cheesecake because it’s not realistic, however, I do think some perspective has been a step in disguise in the right direction.

So perhaps just give yourself an extra minute to check out what’s going on down the back of your body because it might not actually be the wannabe Kim K toosh people are staring at!

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