07:30 on a Monday morning in The Square Mile.
A girl wanders up and down the isles of a food store,
nothing I can eat, nothing I can eat, as she wrings her hands, flustered, getting in the way of impatient men in suits
I managed in the end. Three packets of microwave-in-the-bag mixed vegetables, three mini packets of cooked chicken breast and one packet of plain mixed nuts.
I've decided I'm allowed plain nuts now after reading a few Paleo blogs - which also means fruit is back in the diet - hurray! (The Dukan Diet which I followed strictly a few months back was utterly depressing in it's lack of fruit).
So, for all those who are interested here is the new plan of what Ophelia is eating and keeping down happily:
All vegetables (except beans)
All fruit (except dried fruits)
Plain nuts and seeds (not peanuts)
Fish and Seafood
- A diet which is my own personal hybrid of Paleo and Dukan, which is restrictive enough to have the right effects, but lenient enough to be easy to stick to.
At 10:00 Rhianna sent me a BBM across the office: "The new girl is a smoke show."
And indeed she was. 110 lbs, straight blond hair, tanned, sleek black suit and a a string of white pearls to match her string of white teeth.
It seems silly writing it now, but at the time I felt all my confidence come crashing down around me. I sat at my desk in agony.
It became very clear all of a sudden: It wasn’t a question of if I’d crumble and have a breakdown, it was a question of when. A new, stunning girl walks onto the office floor and suddenly I’m on the verge of a tearful hysterics, feeling like a disgusting piece of whore.
What the fuck?
What an insanely insecure, irrational meltdown.
And that just summed it up: it’s not a question of if, it’s a question of when. I am going to breakdown at some point, I’m still Ophelia, I’m still fucked-up. Something is going to go wrong one day and I won’t be able to handle it....
For the time being though, this crisis situation was manageable. As she was joining Rhianna’s desk, she invited her along for lunch. I of course was only too eager to learn more about my new threat. And that’s when I finally got my brains back into my aching skull. She was 28, old compared to me, her skin wasn’t just tanned but aged- too much sun, not enough protection – her features were pretty but normal, her lips too big, her face made-up. She was nothing like me with my long dark hair, big brown eyes and fair skin, not to mention the difference in personality. As my manager would say: in a similar market but not a direct competitor. What made me beautiful and amazing were qualities completely different to her – you couldn’t compare us, we were different breeds of women.
There will be guys in the office who fancy her over me, and that’s fine, because I don’t want to be like her. I like the market I’m in – niche and slightly exotic. Men either like it or they don’t.
Hillary Clinton meme
9 months ago