Robyn Wilder

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The first sign that I was gaining weight came when I woke up one morning with a sudden pair of boobs. I’d always been flat-chested and boyish, running around in jeans with nary a bra or pair of heels to my name. Boobs were a new and exciting phenomenon; I didn’t actually realise I was eating more, I just assumed my Italian heritage was kicking in, and that I was finally Becoming A Woman. Eagerly I awaited the arrival of my childbearing hips, imagining myself stalking around moodily in a pencil skirt and balconette bra (all the Italians in my imagination are directed by Fellini).

I’ve written a new piece for The Debrief about how confusing fashion can be when you lose weight (especially when you’re an idiot who doesn’t realise you can make decent fashion choices whatever your size).

I solved Elan Gale Gate for usvsth3m. You’re welcome:

When US TV producer Elan Gale live-tweeted his in-flight spat with an annoying woman, we asked you who was wrong. And the poll results are in! In case you’ve forgotten, this is how the whole thing went down.

On Thanksgiving, Elan Gale reported this situation from a plane:

Have you got the fear?

When I was 21 I thought I was fearless. I wasn’t, of course - say the word ‘spider’ to me and I’d run a mile. But, during my teens I’d done slightly odd things  like hitchhiking to Glastonbury Festival, and running away to the USA for a summer. Now I was fresh out of university, flat-sharing with friends, and having the time of my life. Sure, I wasn’t completely confident of what I wanted to do work-wise and my income depended on bar work, but who wouldn’t be happy boasting a guitarist boyfriend, a mane of waist-length, pillarbox-red hair, and their very own not-that-terrible-actually band? Not me. Life was good.

Until, very suddenly and completely without warning, it wasn’t. One morning, I was aimlessly browsing in Boots when the ground tilted sharply beneath my feet. My palms flooded with sweat and I was struck by the kind of wooziness you may have felt if, and I don’t mean to be presumptuous here, you’ve ever drunk too much cheap cider and urgently needed to be sick in a hedge.

With my stomach threatening to explosively empty itself, I scanned the shop for the closest exit. But by that point, the world was see-sawing so violently that I crashed headfirst into the mother & baby aisle and blacked out. Other shoppers looked on in horror as, when I came to, I clambered out from under a large pile of breast pumps and legged it.

I’d never experienced anything like it before, so naturally, I assumed I had somehow contracted Ebola, or that the zombie apocalypse had hit. But, after a restorative cup of tea, I felt perfectly normal again. And as I was neither bleeding from my eyeballs nor craving human flesh, I decided it was just one of Those Things.

However, the next day I went funny again in the local newsagent.

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