Lizzie Twiglet

I didn't choose the boob life, the boob life chose me.

This post really is only for anyone who has been blessed (... cursed?) with boobs bigger than a G, so apols to others who happen to end up here but you can go and browse your vast array of delicate, lacey, backless, strapless, stick-on, front-closing, multi-way, wireless, embroidered, mesh, crop-top bras to console yourself while the rest of us congregate here in big-boobed sisterhood.

The truth is that settling for horrendously 'practical' (see: ugly) black, white or beige bras is a way of life for me, and it has been for some time. All clothing has to be chosen carefully around disguising those greying, straining extra thick shoulder straps (supposedly for more 'comfort' and 'support') and halter necks worn for any length of time undoubtedly cause lasting neck/shoulder damage. I know others can relate to that awful dull ache!

Back fat - a good sturdy roll on each side - is just inevitable because of the mandatory 3-clasp closure on these big bras. Pair the triple hooks with having to have the bra super tight around your middle to avoid under boob spillage or a black eye when your morning bus goes over a speed bump a little too quick and you've got no hope. Oh, and let's not forget that the extra secure closure also stops any spontaneous bra-whipping-off in a moment of passion, and even the most seasoned professional can't work out what on earth is going on when he reaches round to try and subtly / smoothly unleash the beasts. Que awkard struggle.

It's around this time of year that all the above bra complaints attempt to overshadow the excitement of booking any sort of holiday, because, joyfully , all these issues also apply to finding a bikini top that looks socially acceptable and actually holds anything in any sort of desirable position. The most un-ladylike thing has to be emerging from a pool / rising from a sun lounger / rolling over mid-tanning and having to heave both boobs upwards and together, whilst attempting to tuck away the excess flesh which has escaped sideways subtly under your arms.

Anyway, I clearly could (and sometimes do) talk about how damn IRRITATING it is that the boob life chose me (and don't get me started on brands charging MORE for big sizes), but I'm going to try and move this post along and give a shout out to ASOS, one of the only sites who are really trying to rectify this situation, especially in the field of swimwear. They've absolutely smashed it this year and I can't wait to start holiday shopping as soon as.

Here's my must-haves for Spring/Summer 2015 (some styles tested by my own colossal 32GG/34G chest and some great recommendations from similarly endowed pals). Enjoy.

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FASHION

Shoes.

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LIFE

Traumatic.

If you've read my last few posts you'll remember me briefly mentioning my worst ever date and how I would write about it soon. Well, here we are and I'm going to share every distressing detail right here, right now. Are you sitting comfortably? People always ask me why I hate first dates and this is why. Truly, and all joking aside here, it took me about three years to recover from this car crash of an evening.

Firstly, let's talk about the guy. We'll call him L for subtlety (although the chances of him ever finding and reading this post are extremely slim because I don't think he does anything except watch and play football and talk about himself). Anyway, L was - on the surface - a bit of a dream boat. Not my usual type AT ALL; he had blonde sort of scruffy but great hair, a tan (which looking back was a bit sun-beddy for my liking) and muscly arms. His dress sense was a bit more medium and littered with the odd branded sportswear item which I just hate. Like, he was probably the type to wear a cringe baseball hat on holiday with sunglasses that were ever-so-slightly Dad-chic.

I met him on a night out in my third year of uni and he was three years older than me. Infact, it was pretty rare at the time for me to meet anyone who wasn't a penniless student so when he told me he actually lived in Southampton permanently (in his own flat), owned a car, and had a real-life job as a media executive (what is this?), I was fairly easily persuaded into a first date. Also we have to bear in mind here that I had only recently broken up with my ex-boyfriend and was feeling a bit yolo after a few drinks.

A week after meeting him and after a bit of that annoying to and fro mundane whatsapp chat which always puts me off people, he arrived to pick me up in his car. Flashy and jazzy definitely, but also a bit weird seeing as I lived about five minutes from the main restaurant / bar area of the town.

We had an awkward two minute journey in his way-too-clean car while Drake literally SHOUTED AT ME from the probably new stereo system and speakers. I'd say it was around this point (two minutes in) that I realised he was, without a shadow of a doubt, a dick. Even if I'd tried to open the conversation with a pretty normal, "Sooo, how are you?", he wouldn't have heard me over the lyrics of Take Care. Don't get me wrong, I love me some Drake, but there's a socially acceptable volume for car music and this was way, way past it.

Also important to note is that I don't know at this stage where we're going on the date. I think he was trying to be a bit Peter Andre style mysterious, and had just said that it would be a surprise. Being the insanely fussy eater and control freak that I am, this was already beyond stressful. It turns out that I needn't have worried because we went to REVS for dinner. Anyone who knows me knows I always enjoy some junky carby Revs-type food, but the really awful thing was that he apparently thought Revs was some up-market place I'd be really impressed by. He was staring at my face for a reaction as soon as we arrived - all keen and just-LOOK-at-where-I-have-taken-you smug.

Inside and seated, things really took a turn for the worse. The conversation was strained at best and non-existent mostly, and when the waitress came over to ask for our food I began to say I needed five more minutes to deliberate between the chicken burger, the cheese burger or the cheesy nachos (strong choices, I know) when he went right ahead and ordered for me. "Two cheeseburgers please"... WAIT, WHAT.

I know the cheese burger had made it onto my shortlist but what if I was swaying away from it?! Also, let's just talk about who the hell orders for someone else. The cheeseburger tasted like controlling psychopath in my mouth and all I could really make out aside from that was grease. As I sat and begrudgingly munched through my meal he sat and talked consistently with his mouth wide open. If, just say, the conversation had been mildly entertaining or two-way I could have maybe overlooked the terrible burger and lunatic behaviour on his part, but the conversation was only, solely, purely about Arsenal football club and his passion for 5-a-side on a Wednesday evening. I spent most of the time sitting there debating if I could feign illness or faint and have to be rushed home.

On 'finishing' the food (I literally had eaten less than half), I too-quickly refused pudding and asked if we could "just have the bill please" before he had a chance to open his mouth and say something mental again. Leaning back in my chair and breathing a sigh of relief that the end was in sight I was already thinking that at least this date would make a truly hilarious story for all my mates. Every cloud and all that.

It was at this point, just after paying the bill, that my chair broke. Effectively, what happened was my weight snapped one of the back struts and then caused the entire back panel to collapse sideways, and whilst the seat and legs stayed in one piece, the shock and overall chaos of the situation made me fall off too. I still to this day don't really know why I fell but I think I got disorientated. Either that or it was my body subconsciously trying to injure myself so I could LEAVE.

L, who had finally shut up, had literally no reaction to this happening. Surely, normal humans find this sort of thing mildly amusing? Even though my arm fat had sort of smacked against the floor and it kind of hurt, I managed a little rofl (literally) to myself. I mean, even if you're not going to laugh until you know someone is okay, you at least go over and help them up to check?! No, L just sat there looking at me laughing to myself on the floor amidst bits of splintered chair. The thought of that moment makes me feel so sick with the cringe but is also one of my favourite moments of life so far.

Needless to say, after I picked myself up and had a quiet word with myself to check I was okay, I declined his offer of a lift round the corner (home) and didn't reply when he text asking if I'd be up for a second date. WHY in God's name he thought this would be on the cards I just can't comprehend.

So, there you go. Beat that worst date story if you can. (You can't).

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FASHION

Weekend of frolicking fun.

For once, I got to spend the whole weekend with my ridiculous busy best bud. If she's not marking mountains of school books (she teaches horrific-sounding year 3s) she's having to go and look at wedding venues or to in-laws for roast dinners. I suppose that's how life is when you're a grown up (lol?) Anyway, I booked her in a while ago and made her promise to be free for the whole weekend and so, we had a right delightful time.

Saturday involved a shopping trip to Stratford Westfield - ya know, we pushed the boat out and ventured further than Oxford Circus on the central line - and a ridiculously huge 'snack' at TGIs. Not even a lie, we ate so much that for dinner we were both physically craving cold, crisp lettuce and not much else. I think when you've been trying to be healthy for a while (I really have been trying), your body doesn't react at all well to a greasy carb-y overload. They say the key to sustaining a healthy lifestyle and loosing weight the right way is about changing your mental attitude towards food so maybe I'm getting there. I really did feel so sick and bad for all of about four hours.

As my treat - and a thank you for picking me as a bridesmaid - I booked us into the see the Wedding Dresses: 1775 - 2014 Exhibition at the V&A Museum on Sunday.

We arrived early and weren't allowed in straight away so we wondered around the Exhibition Road area in the glorious sunshine and admired the houses we would buy if we were millionaires - to the point where we were discussing extensions and home improvements. Bless us. Oh, and having clearly moved on from the food-trauma of the previous day we decided it was only right to go for a Pret lunch and finish off with some Millie's cookies. WHY DO I DO THIS TO MY CHUBBY SELF. I mean, shout out to the praline & salted caramel cookie I could have eaten 10 times over, but still, I need to stop.

Anyway, the exhibition was really excellent. I was pleased we got 2 for 1 on the tickets (through an offer from notonthehightstreet.com) because at £12 each it's quite an expensive show for the size of it. Some posh types were walking about tutting about the cost but we thought that the actual wedding dresses there were pretty amazing. The displays included Gwen Stefani's and Kate Moss's dresses, plus the bits of written blurb were interesting and not too 'museumy' even for a heathen like myself. There was a short red-faced, cross-looking security guard following me about to make sure I didn't take photos but I managed to sneak a few shots when she got distracted by other people breaking the rules. Here's some of our faves from Jenny Packham and Vera Wang aka THE DREAM.

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FASHION

Not good enough.

I'm fully aware it's just not good enough to have total blog silence for almost two whole months. Especially if I want to up my blog views and followers from the loyal, and mucho appreciated, ten people (all family members / best friends) who regularly read my drivel. So, apols about that and you'll be pleased to hear that my February resolution is to get back on it and stick at it again. I'd got quite good before Xmas and I like to think I've maybe got some more interesting posts up my sleeves. Which, by the way, are khaki green and gorgeous and part of the Topshop Bomber jacket that accidentally jumped into my hands last week despite being just a little expensive at £55. Oops.

So, a big update on my life is that before Christmas I had the only genuinely enjoyable first date I've ever been on. I've actually just reminded myself about the worst first date of my life - I mean, really awful - and made a mental note to post about that soon. It involved a horrible burger, breaking a chair and loads of chat about football. But yes, back to here and now.

After writing about / talking about how I will die old and alone for most of last year, I actually found someone who talks like a proper adult, has opinions and ambition and doesn't (or hasn't yet) used the words 'b', 'bbz' or 'bae' in any sort of serious way. Excellent. There were no awkward silences and loads of lols, cocktails and kissing and overall I'd say he's a definite 10. Plus, he bought me haribo the other day so ya know, a real dream boat. At the very least, even if it doesn't work out, he's reminded me that there are some really delightful fish in the sea.

Another important person in my life at the moment is Charlotte Crosby (Geordie Shore star and general lunatic). Specifically her Belly Blitz DVD, which me and Ria are aiming to do twice a week. It's a lot harder than I expected and I can tooootally see why it's the best selling fitness DVD of all time. In a moment of sporty enthusiasm we even got some neon, stripy, printed fitness gear so we could look the part while we sweat / hyperventilate / cry. I'm actually debating buying even more PE kit bits from Missguided's new Active Collection (below) which keeps trying to tempt me via newsletter. STOP IT.

Last bit of chat from me for today (I promise), but I can't not share this SUPER exciting bit of news: MY BEST FRIEND IS GETTING MARRIED. I'm fully as excited about this as if it was me getting hitched and a huge apology to anyone who was near me when Laura broke the news to me on NYE because I screamed and sobbed happy tears in a really, truly socially unacceptable manner. I literally SHOUTED the news in the face of the bouncer at the club who just sort of flinched and nodded blankly. Really though, why should he have any other reaction? He doesn't know me, or Laura, or Tommy and was probably pretty worried about my mental state. I cannot wait to be a bridesmaid again - the wedding is pencilled in for August 2016 - and all the prep (wedding fairs, dress shopping, panic dieting, hen parties, hair trials and pinterest-ing) excites me so damn much.